Good Times
by Ranranami
Summary: Picking up where 'Power Play' left off, it's time to deal with Shane and his lackeys. Then, once that's finally done with, the Lost Boys want to get back into their old routine. Now, if only Star and Michael would get with the program.
1. Chapter 1: I Dream of Sammie

Author's notes: Look, if you've been following this long, you _know_ what I'm about to say. David. Michael. Bad stuff. Not much, but still. I almost think I don't need to warn you anymore. Clearly it's bound to happen sooner or later in these stories.

* * *

Sam pressed shaking hands to the slick stone walls of the cavern, nails scraping up green bits of algae, as he climbed forward into the rising water. If he survived this, he had no doubt he'd catch pneumonia, as cold as he was by now. Shane and the others were sleeping in a peaceful heap, an inch-deep in water, dead to the world and the goings-on about them. And with the breaking of dawn, Sam was coming back to himself a little. Not enough to consider himself good as new, though; he still wanted to eat bugs and small animals, still wanted to call Shane master and lick his shoes...but the compulsion was weaker. Easier to push aside. Grandpa had said it would be a couple of weeks before the blood was flushed from his system, and he was just barely coming up on the halfway point soon. If he had to spend the whole time huddled in a stinking cavern, unable to make it to shore without the risk of being drug out by the tide, Sam wasn't so sure he'd be able to make it. And there was nothing particularly special about him to drive Shane to even care about his physical health. So he doubted his situation would improve much, if this somehow became a permanent lifestyle.

And what about the Frog brothers? Were they still back at the observatory? Were they out looking for him right now? Sam licked salt-cracked lips as his feet searched for stable footing on the sharp rocks below, continuing to edge his way along the wall of the cavern. Each step propelled him a little further into the light, and a little further away from the sleeping bloodsuckers. He was tired. He was hungry. He was cold. This really sucked...

"C'mon, Sam...you gotta do this..." he whispered to himself, just knowing his mom was probably tearing her her out right now worried about where the hell he'd gone. She'd already lost Mike. She didn't need to go through this again. That was the thought that anchored him, as the journey through the cavern grew more and more difficult with the rising water brushing up against his jeans, and the unidentified swimming creatures below became better acquainted with his ankles.

He had to think of something else. Something to keep himself distracted. A song...what song? An image flashed in his mind, the first thing he thought of...a floating cartoon bottle. Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to focus on the 'I Dream of Jeannie' theme song, something so far-removed from his current situation, he couldn't help but laugh weakly as he tried to hum the tune to himself. Yeah, he had a lot to deal with right now, but at least he didn't have to wear a pink costume like Barbara Eden on top of all the other bullshit Shane expected him to do. Speaking of which, he'd probably be mad when he woke up and not only found Sam gone (hopefully), but realized he had not in fact done any of the dry-cleaning.

"Ya gotta get outta here," Sam sighed, when it was finally bright enough to see his surroundings. He'd gotten surprisingly far. Maybe this wouldn't be too hard, after all! Steeling himself, he began to hum the tune even louder, pushing his way further along the cavern wall. It took ages. But...finally...he reached open sunlight, with the water having reached his chest. Turning his head about, Sam used one hand to shield his eyes from the harsh glow of the afternoon sun. He was...too tired to swim. Too skinny to float. And he couldn't see shore...his prune-y fingers were cut to ribbons by now just with trying to cling to the wall despite the rising tide trying to thrash him about. It would...be so easy to fall asleep. It was really tempting, too. The combination of Shane's blood and the fact that he hadn't gotten a chance to rest in over twenty-four hours now...they really were fighting against him. But did he really want to take his chances with the vampires back in that cavern? Somehow he doubted the Tommy guy, who almost seemed to be on his side (enemy of my enemy and all), would be able to do much to help protect him if one of them got too hungry to wait until they went hunting, when they could simply chow down on Sam and make another Renfield later.

Sam stopped humming and snorted to himself, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek against the cool cavern wall, pulling himself along the exit and kicking his legs in the water as the tide tried to carry him, he didn't know whether mentioning the fact that his brother was one of the Lost Boys would save him or not, but it wasn't worth taking the risk. Unconsciously, he kept his fingers stubbornly gripping the rocky wall, and pushed further. Kept going, inch by inch, despite his failing strength and consciousness, until somehow...somehow his feet found ground...and his legs melted beneath him. Just outside the cavern, there was a small mound of chipped rock, high enough above the water to keep him from floating away. Sam took a deep breath and collapsed on it, hoping the sun would keep him warm long enough to recover before he could hopefully try again. He just needed to rest. Just a bit...

What he wouldn't give for a Jeannie right now. Sam's dreams were riddled with images of pink harem pants and 60s music, interspersed with bizarre nightmares about surfing vampires, and grandpa yelling about his tv guide while the Frog brothers fought about poppy seeds. It was a very strange sleep.

* * *

David awoke pressed surprisingly close to Michael. Whether he had been the one to initiate it, or his mate, he couldn't really tell. But here they were, and it would be a good ten minutes or so before the brunette could rouse himself. Time enough two do one of two things: he could watch Michael sleep, or...he could have a little bit of fun. The decision wasn't a difficult one.

Nearby, the others began to stretch, save for Star, still as insensate to the world as Michael.

 _"Hey, princess, get me some cigarettes,"_ David called down to Paul as the wild-haired vampire touched feet to ground. Paul tossed his head back and glared up at him.

 _"I didn't make the bet with you, David!" _He snapped back.

David quirked an eyebrow, " _who said anything about a bet? Get me some fucking cigarettes._ "

Paul snarled, taking flight from their sleeping quarter wordlessly. Unlike Michael, he wasn't inclined to start fist fights first thing when they woke up, and he was smart enough not to pick one with David. Decades of experience had taught him that was a bad idea.

 _"Hey, wait up! I got a grocery list for ya!"_ Marko mentally crowed after him, quickly following.

Dwayne watched them leave, then glanced back up at David with an amused smirk, " _I'm gonna go check on the meat bags. You want anything else?_ " He asked.

David just shook his head, dismissing Dwayne with a wave and pressing closer to Michael, a soft growl emanating from his chest. He didn't want to spend these last precious minutes chatting, when there was something much more entertaining on his mind than cigarettes or bitch bets. The irony of having Star sleeping not more than ten feet away from them didn't escape him. It only made this that much more amusing. When with one cool hand, David reached up to unzip Michael's jeans and quickly slip beneath the confines therein, the brunette stirred and shifted against him, unconsciously pressing closer, but otherwise did not react. Though one part of him certainly did. This would be so very... _sweet_.

Working deft fingers, lightly at some points and much firmer at others, David snickered to himself when he pondered whether or not he would have been a great pianist, if his life had taken a different turn. Judging by the soft groans pressed into his neck, he didn't doubt Michael would agree. He didn't even need to force the boy's fangs to descend to nick his skin, or a soft tongue to glide across his neck with the same delicious rhythm with which David's fingers played on his member.

And just when it seemed he'd almost been driven to completion, David quickly retrieved his hand and zipped Michael's jeans back up, swinging down from the perch and disappearing with a small chuckle. As much as he might have enjoyed finishing what he started, it was far more amusing to leave his fledgling to wake a little bit more frustrated, and a little bit closer to an edge he didn't quite want to meet. A push here and there, and eventually Michael might even think he had a choice in the matter.

Michael finally awoke with the taste of pennies on his tongue. It wasn't unpleasant. His eyes were then immediately drawn upwards to a very obvious bulge in his jeans, and he gave a frustrated huff. It seemed like there were some things he couldn't escape, even in death. He tried to ignore the scent of David lingering on his clothes.

* * *

This had been worse than the weekend their parents left without a word, the pantries and fridge completely bare. Worse than when they'd been faced with the grimacing face of the half-vampire midget. Worse than...well, anything. Edgar and Alan had spent an absolutely _miserable_ day in a cave they'd hoped to never return to, fitfully sleeping as best they could for ten minutes at a time, only to find themselves roused by the smallest sound of wind whispering through beaded curtains, bits of sand and rock settling on lobby walls, and the much more terrifying sound of the hellhound stirring and growling from his perch on the canopied bed. Thorne never took his dark eyes off of them, even barely able to crawl, still intent on guarding his master and pack.

They were both too emotionally exhausted to react when the vampires slowly filtered into the lobby. First, the Twisted Sister lookalike. Then the little one...how either of them had thought he'd be the best one to stake first, Alan couldn't quite understand. He was a crony, if ever there was one. And as if he'd voiced this opinion aloud, the short vampire gave him a quick glare, before re-directing his attention back at the other one, and wordlessly slinging an arm over his shoulder. They didn't speak. But...something seemed to be happening behind their eyes and lips, so...

Was the comic right? Could they read minds? Alan's lips twitched, and he shifted on the ground. He didn't know whether or not they'd even give him a straight answer if he asked, given the fact that he and his brother were even still alive was already more than any of the Lost Boys really wanted to allow. What was worse? Spending another day tied up like this, or rushing forward to Friday night, where they would both likely be torn to shreds by fishy shark-eyed bloodsuckers? He knew it was too much to hope their cousin would be of much use, given the fact that he'd been ready to skip town the last time they'd seen him before he got carried off by Shane to some unknown destination.

The dark-haired vampire, the one who'd been sniped on the Emerson's stereo, focused sharp eyes on them both, striding towards the Frog brothers and kneeling in front of them.

Alan gulped, pressing his back up against his brother and trying not to flinch away.

* * *

 _Cousin?"_ Dwayne thought curiously, glancing over at David as he fluttered into the lobby and landed smoothly on the ground just feet away from his 'throne'.

 _"What?"_ David glanced back over at him, and then Marko and Paul...who, for the moment, seemed just as fascinated by the Frog brothers now as Dwayne. _"Did I miss something?"_

 _"Oh, man...we need popcorn. Paulie, get some popcorn too,"_ Marko cackled aloud, biting the thumb of his glove. Even more wildly amused when Edgar whimpered in fear at the sound. Paul just rolled his eyes, stalking towards the lobby exit.

"Anything else while I'm out? Diapers? A thermometer? Prune juice? Condoms?"

"...Dude, what kinda night do you think we're planning here?" Marko shook his head, "nobody's going to need any prune juice."

Edgar and Alan blanched, both believing without a doubt that only the most sinister plot could be in store for them both.


	2. Chapter 2: Phrasing

Author's notes: Fun fact, Paul Bunyan is a classic American folktale character. He's a giant. So, there you go...and also, thought David was being a bit of a softy lately by his own standards, so I went ahead and fixed that.

* * *

"Shiiiiiit!" Dallas cursed, assaulted with not only the agony of his lost hand, and a biting hunger shredding into his very core, but the most insane headache he'd ever had. He seized forward, crawling around and splashing in the shallow puddles, unable to see beyond the blinding white light behind his eyes, "what the hell is going on!?"

"Relax," Shane yawned as he sat up, running a hand through dampened blonde locks. He'd have to pick up some conditioner later and rinse the salt off at a beach-side shower. Chicks weren't too hot on the fish smell, but if his hair looked great...they could usually get past it. Plus, his reputation tended to precede him. Groupies were a thousand times more useful now than they had been when he was alive.

"Shane, what's happening to him!?" Leonard echoed the panic in Dallas's voice, feeling a much more mild headache, and a deep sense of loss.

"Guess the kids got toasted," Shane shrugged, standing up to stretch and yawn. Completely at ease, unaffected by his own childe's pain. He'd wanted to test his theory about the headaches, and this pretty much proved it. Every last one of the nearly mindless vampires in their nest had been products of Dallas and Leonard...though mostly Dallas. Fatass was always feeding twice as much as the rest of them. Frankly, it only served him right to reap the consequences now.

Tommy ran hands through his hair, yawning and stretching from his position at the far edge of the cavern, several feet away from the others, and several inches dryer. "What's up? What'd I miss?" He smacked his lips and scratched his back as he stumbled to his feet on wobbly legs. Never much of an early riser, that one.

"Go out and check for that kid," Shane commanded him without so much as a 'good evening', or 'sleep well'. Tommy frowned at him and splashed into the water, biting his tongue and gritting his teeth. If 'that kid' hadn't shown up, if his cousins hadn't stumbled into the old nest like they ran the place, and if there wasn't some crazy dog outside tearing up the beach...he'd be at least a county over by now, probably even boinking a couple of cheerleaders...stranger things had happened. He wouldn't be able to turn them, but it wasn't like he honestly wanted another fishy friend to haunt the night with. From his experience, they were all dicks. Tommy could even admit that on some level, he probably was one too, since he didn't have much of a conscience anymore to temper him. This whol situation just...wasn't... _fair_. And he wasn't really sure who to place all the blame on right now, because splitting it out among everyone would only mean he had a lot more people to take it out on, too. Whatever, fuck it, this was still all Shane's fault by association.

Tommy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as he dove into the water and quickly swam towards the edge of the cavern. His progress was swift. Streamlined. Much faster than Sam had been, since he didn't have human weaknesses, sleep deprivation, and encroaching madness to contend with.

Shane watched him swim away with a slight frown. Little bastard was starting to let some of his attitude slip through lately. With their numbers officially sliced down to 6 (and 1/4, if you counted the slave), he wasn't too sure he'd want to deal with ingratitude. Maybe he'd just swap Tommy out, and fully turn the other kid. Keep him a halfie on a trial basis and see if he worked out a little better. It was worth considering, he supposed. He'd hold off on killing Tommy until he could afford the headache, though. Didn't look like things were looking too bright for them tomorrow, if they met the Lost Boys and Dallas was still missing a hand.

"You gotta eat, bud, and maybe we can dig up your digits back at the beach tonight to speed up the healing," Shane glanced over at the one-handed vampire, who was by now huddled into a ball and rubbing at his eyelids and emitting pathetic keening noises.

Shane wakes Sam up, asks if he was trying to make a break for it. Sam denies this.

"Hey, Tommy!" Shane called out, when he saw a dark-haired head poking out of the water in the distance.

"What?" Tommy called back, and this time there was no mistaking the slight rise in his tone. First thing when they left the cavern tonight, that would be taken care of.

"Ask the kid if he wants to grab a bite to eat when you find him!"

Tommy remained motionless in the water, waves lapping at his chest, and it was like he could see the dry smile on Shane's face. Then he was below the water again, swimming round the cavern exit.

* * *

Michael didn't pause to say his good-byes, once he was fully awake and dealt with the raging...distraction he'd awoken to, as he flew through the moth-eaten curtain and then the lobby, heading straight for his bike. David had expected he'd do as much, so he was ready when the brunette tried to depart, surging to his feet and taking off after him.

"Michael, where you think you're going?" David called out to him, tucking his hands into his duster pockets and striding towards his mate as Michael prepared to ride off.

"What's it matter to you?" Michael asked, avoiding eye contact with him and speaking very calmly, doing his best to keep as little inflection in his voice as possible. He wasn't going to give David even one bit of energy to mess with and use to piss him off. He would be like the duck tonight, and let the water roll of his back.

David snorted and crossed towards the front of Michael's bike, pulling his hands out of his pockets and leaning forward to place them over Michael's own as the boy tried to get a grip on his handles. "Can't let you leave. Not tonight."

"I've got to see my mom. Tell her about Sam."

"What good is that going to do?"

"Are you fucking serious?!" Michael pulled back, yanking his hands away as if they'd been scalded, and cursing himself for failing to keep his voice even.

"I mean it. She's probably worried. But I bet she just thinks he ran off to talk to his buddies. If she finds out he's off sleeping with the fishes, you think that's going to make her feel any better? Come on, Michael. Give me a break."

Michael scoffed, "so you think keeping her in the dark is better? She almost bit my head off when she found out about this," he made a sweeping gesture over himself.

"About what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, you mean the fact that you're mine?"

A snort of disgust, and Michael was off his bike, "whatever. I don't need my bike to get there."

"Fine," David smiled pleasantly, pulling away and spreading his arms, "but I just have one question for you, Mikey. Mind answering it for me?"

"If it's about your cock, you can suck it yourself," Michael growled low.

"Oh, don't worry, _I'll save that privilege for you_ ," David purred, "but that wasn't what I was referring to." Michael's eyes widened, and he made a mental note to avoid drinking David's blood again at any and all costs, just in case David got any more kinky ideas. He couldn't shake the feeling David had something to do with his not so subtle wake-up call earlier.

When the silence stretched between them just long enough for Michael to grow uncomfortable, he finally let out a sigh, "okay. What?"

"I just want to know if you remember our agreement."

"I think I already-"

"Not that one," David's grin grew a little wider, more vicious, sneakier. And if Michael needed any more convincing to know he wouldn't like to know where this conversation was going, that would be it.

"Which one?" Michael licked his lips, stepping back a little, because it seemed like the distance between them was shrinking with the passing seconds, and he didn't really like the feelings it was stirring in him. And it wasn't the budding anger that was bugging him, either.

"Which agreement?" Michael repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes. This was going in a very bad direction. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know David had something up his sleeve. The freaky blonde _bastard_.

David cleared his throat, "when you lost. When the blood turned out to be stronger than you. And you agreed you'd come home with us, no fighting...rejoining the family. You remember that, right?"

"...Yeah..."

"No fighting."

Michael sputtered, clenching his fists, "you...that...you can't just twist it! I agreed I wouldn't fight you coming back here, I never said-"

"Ah," David held up an index finger, "but I didn't say 'no fighting on the way back to Santa Carla', did I? I just said 'no fighting.'" He paused. "You really need to pay attention to how I phrase things," he mimicked Michael's earlier taunt.

"This is bullshit, and you know it!" The brunette snapped back, on the verge of stomping his foot like a petulant child. "You can't do that!"

In an instant, David was pressed close to Michael, fists gripping his shirt collar and fangs at the ready, "yes I can. I'm in charge here, _not you_. Maybe I haven't made that clear enough. Your leash is so fucking long right now, I could use it to measure Paul Bunyan's dick. Enough is enough. If you run off again without my permission, I'll count that as breaking the deal, you got it? If you break the deal, I'm not saving your little brother. In fact, I'll kill _him_. And your _mother_. And your _grandpa_. And even then, you'll still be stuck with us. It's for keeps, whether you like it or not. You understand me?"

Michael snarled, gripping at David's hands on his shirt collar and meeting his gaze finally, gold staring into gold. They could fight right now. It wouldn't be hard to slam his fist right into his master's face...but...the risk wasn't worth it. And, who was he kidding? So far, the only time he'd gotten the upper hand was back at the house when he'd caught David by surprise. So, no...he wasn't about to accept the mating bullshit, but...

"You're an asshole," he grumbled, and they released each other at the same time. David gave Michael a condescending pat on the shoulder.

"Let's go inside, huh? Don't worry. I'll send Marko to chat with your mommy about little Sammy. That better?"

"No. It's worse."

David shrugged, heading back towards the cave, lingering just outside when Michael didn't make an immediate move to follow him. The brunette glanced over at his bike and then back at the line of David's back, giving a small rock on the ground one swift kick and reluctantly following him. On their way inside, they passed Dwayne, shoving the Frogs ahead of him with his claws firmly gripping their necks. Their feet weren't bound anymore, but their wrists still were.

" _Dwayne?_ " David quirked an eyebrow.

" _Don't want them pissing by the bed,_ " Dwayne replied gruffly. Even vampires had standards, sometimes.

"Oh god, please...please don't kill us!" Edgar grunted, trying to dig his heels into the ground. Far from brave now without even a couple of sticks to fashion into a cross for protection.

"If you don't stop struggling, I will! Now shut up!" Dwayne snapped back at him. He paused to give Michael a quick once-over and just snorted, shaking his head before he continued to shove the Frogs ahead of him. "Pick up the pace, ladies!"

Michael looked back at him and frowned. What was that about?

David slung an arm around the brunette's shoulder, and Michael gave a frustrated sigh, "is there something else you wanted to say, David? Some other stupid rule?"

A wordless glance from David, and Marko was hopping out of the lobby, giving Michael a sneaky smile and wave as his curly hair bobbed behind him.

"We'll wait until the boys get back, huh? We can talk about it then," David replied, glancing over at Star as she sat down beside Thorne and began to examine his scarring. She looked back at the pair with a slightly hurt expression, still expecting Michael to at least acknowledge her. But still, nothing. She wondered how long this cold shoulder could last.


	3. Chapter 3: Vinegar

Author's notes: Sometimes when I'm driving with friends in the car, I pretend to have massive road rage just to scare them. It's funny. Also, means I'm usually not the one who has to do the driving when we go places. Everybody wins. My point being, this isn't in any way related to the story. But it's a good trick if you really hate driving. Which I do.

* * *

Paul yanked a pulverized tooth brush from his mouth and tossed it into the sand behind him. Finally. He'd been trying to scrub out that bit of skin stuck between his back teeth for like 3 days. Kneeling down to his latest meal beneath a shadowed dock, he snatched the walkman from the guy's hand and slipped the (only slightly) bloodied headphones from over his hears. "Yoink!"

Idly, he flipped the plastic compartment open to get a good look at what the dude was listening to before he bit the big one...or more accurately, before Paul bit _him_. " _Ugh_... _Captain and Tennille? Dude..."_ he snorted to himself, tossing the tape down into the sand and wrapping the headphones around the player before he slipped it into the plastic bag hanging over his bike handle. Cigarettes and sundries, with a few jars of expired baby food for their little Froggies back home. He saw no reason to make their stay a comfortable one. This was honestly the nicest option he could have given the pair, next to nothing at all. Nobody could say The Lost Boys weren't great hosts when their guests managed to survive the odd night or two.

Just as he was about to climb on his bike and call it an early night, a strange scent caught his attention. Grilled meat. Cheese. Old fish. Paul scratched his chin and debated whether or not to follow it. Could just be a poorly-chosen dinner arrangement at the local burger shack...or it could be something else. Honestly, David and the others were being dicks to him right now, so he really didn't see the need to rush. Let Mikey and Star wait a little bit longer before he grabbed their meals, he was going to check this out.

"Stay there," Paul whispered to his bike, pressing a finger to his lips with a sneaky grin as he ducked his head and pursued the scent. In no time, he found himself standing at the sandy steps that led up to a nearly-empty outside dining area, where a short order cook rushed to fill out an enormous order behind his counter, simultaneously flipping patties while he'd lift a cross at his neck to give it the odd kiss. That nutter tended to drive the boys to steer clear of the place, just to err on the side of caution, but he was fairly harmless. This place was so far at the edge of the boardwalk, it was a wonder he bothered staying open this late, as few lights as there were and as small as the tail-end of the summer crowds tended to be out here.

But the ambitiously religious cook wasn't what drew Paul's attention tonight. It was the trio chilling out together at a table, just at the edge of the concrete patio. Two fishy fucks and one blonde wimp. Paul bit the tips of his fingers to keep from snickering. He recognized the tall one. Couldn't forget him. It was one of the Surf Nazis from their bonfire party. Not only that, but he was the half-finished meal David had set aside for Mikey before he gave the kid his little speech about partying and feeding. Too bad one of them hadn't been keeping an eye on him before Michael dashed off that night. No wonder cleanup had been quicker than they'd expected. Go figure...

So...Paul wondered whether this dude was the one in charge of the whole mess. By the cocky grin on his face, and the fearful and somehow...adoring expression in Sam's eyes...Paul could only assume he was. The extra layer of irony was too delicious to pass up. Paul just had to chat these bastards up before he headed home. Not like they could do anything to him. Couldn't even _fly_. And wait...that little one...wasn't the the one who gave them the tickets? And here he'd thought Michael offed him. Paul just rolled his eyes and remained on the steps, keeping an eye on them while they were absorbed in their own little conversation. He wasn't worried about being 'discovered'. Hell, he'd make a big show of it when they noticed him...but he honestly wanted to see how sharp this guy's instincts were. Judging by the fact that he didn't even turn back to regard Paul based on scent alone didn't speak volumes for him. It was pathetic. Really.

* * *

Lucy adjusted her shawl over her lap, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief as she sat on the edge of her wicker chair on the wraparound porch, waiting for a call from the local police. She'd brought a phone outside and hooked it up to the phone jack in the kitchen, leading it through the window, so she could keep an eye on the front yard while she waited for any sort of news about Sam. She honestly couldn't understand how callous those young men at the station had been, as if her pleas for her little boy fell on deaf ears. Lucy didn't know what she'd have done if dad hadn't gone with her.

"You want something to eat, Luce?" Grandpa Emerson called from the kitchen, peering out of the window and squinting in the dark.

"No, dad, I'm fine!" Lucy called back, rubbing her arms and jerking at the slightest sound of a cracking twig or rustling leaves. For all she knew, Sam had gone off and finally gotten himself killed, and there was nothing she could _do_ about it. These thoughts had been running through her mind over and over in worrying circles, stoking her migraine and fears. She should have just kept him in her room with her, not let him out of her sight.

Santa Carla was no place to raise her kids. She just wished she'd figured that out the first time around when Max had turned out to be anything but the ideal candidate for a boyfriend. Oh god, what was she going to do if he didn't come home? Or worse, if his body washed up on the shore somewhere, permanently dead? And, what if his friends had ended up the same way?

The first thing Lucy had done that morning when she'd gone to Sam's room to check on him, was immediately try to call Edgar and Alan's parents. But they didn't really shed any light on the situation for her. Apparently their boys hadn't come home that night, but...the total lack of concern in their voices was so...unnerving...Lucy couldn't make heads or tails whether their disappearances were connected to her youngest or not.

And...Michael...she had no way to contact him if he didn't do it on his own. She doubted he had a phone wherever it was he lived now. Plus, he'd seemed pretty firm that she shouldn't be going to the boardwalk at night anymore, looking for him. Lucy had no idea whether he had any influence over those awful boys he apparently lived with now, either.

"He's probably just...hiding somewhere with Edgar and Alan," Lucy told herself firmly, eyes focused intently on the phone in front of her. "He's fine. They're all fine. _Nothing_ happened to them..." She had to force herself to believe this. If she didn't, she'd go mad.

The sudden nervous cries of Nanook within the house drew Lucy's eyes away from the phone, and that's when she noticed him. One of those...boys. Standing just on the steps, silently peering at her through the stark porch lights. Lucy pressed a hand to her chest, fingers outlining the cross just beneath her shawl.

"Hey momma," he called out, hopping up the steps with a cheerful smile, advancing with a very casual air about him.

"Wh...why are you here?" Lucy asked, her voice coming out reed thin, weak from the hours of panic and tears.

"I come in peace!" Marko waved his hands in front of his face, hopping up onto the porch railing and drumming his fingers against the wood beneath his legs. "Got a message for ya from Mikey," he added.

"Oh lord, is he okay?!" Lucy exclaimed, edging even further off of her chair until she was barely touching it anymore.

"Don't worry about it, momma, it's all good," Marko waved her off, "just came to tell ya we got Sam back at our place. Keeping an eye on him while we deal with his little problem. He kinda freaked out last night. Lucky Mikey found him before he did anything stupid. You know how it is, all those raging teenage hormones. Makes a guy do crazy things. We'll get the kid back to you good as new tomorrow night. Guarantee it."

Lucy released a long breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, squeezing the cross beneath her shawl even tighter as the tension slowly slackened in her bird-like frame. She didn't think she could trust this boy, knowing what he was, knowing he was one of the reasons her oldest son had been forced to suffer so much in the past few years...and the rest of the family, as a result. But...oh lord...she really wanted to. She _needed_ to grasp at this straw, because at the moment...it was all she had.

"If you've said all you gotta say, I'd appreciate it if you got off my porch," a gravelly rasp emanated from the front door, as Grandpa Emerson stepped outside with a bucket of water on the ready, and an anxious husky behind him just begging to be set free.

"Dad!" Lucy chided, when Marko leaped off of the railing with a snicker as he disappeared into the night.

"Lucy, I think it's time you get inside. Not safe out here right now," the old man warned. "Michael's 'friends' ain't the only ones who know about this place. If he's telling the truth, this'll be the first spot that bastard checks when he comes calling for Sam." He paused, scratching his chin, "though, can't be really sure if he _wasn't_ lying..."

"He wouldn't be the first one," Lucy sighed, standing up and crossing towards the front door. It wasn't much to hope for, but...it was better than nothing. She couldn't help but wonder why Michael didn't come here to tell her himself, though...

* * *

"I'm untying your hands. Don't try anything stupid," Dwayne warned the Frog brothers. He wasn't going to give them a second one. It wouldn't be terribly difficult to get more bait before they dealt with the fish, David only really wanted to use these two for the sake or irony and just a little bit of revenge. Frankly, the louder one in particular was giving him a headache. How the hell did these two ever manage to get the upper hand? Sheer dumb luck? That kinda luck was beyond the label 'dumb'; it verged on 'idiotic and retarded'. Maybe luck went on a bender that night and just picked the Frog brothers for her one-night stand. Clearly their current situation meant she hadn't had the best time.

"Why do you think we'd-" Edgar grunted, when Alan quickly elbowed his brother in the stomach with a warning shake of his head.

"Ed, for once in your life, zip it!" Alan hissed at him, not too anxious to have his throat ripped out tonight.

"The bloodsucker's threatening us, Alan!" Edgar whispered back.

Alan lowered his eyebrows, "and we don't have anymore ammo! Keep your cool, and just do what he says! I don't wanna be lunch tonight. Do you wanna be lunch?! _I don't wanna be lunch!_ "

They continued bickering back and forth 'under' their breath, and yet somehow just as loud as they'd be if they were having a normal conversation. Dwayne crossed his arms and watched the bizarrely theatrical exchange, turning his back on them, "just hurry up and take a piss, go behind a bush, do what you have to do. You've got five minutes before I either snap your necks or drag you back inside. Make your choice," Dwayne demanded roughly.

* * *

Tommy kept his arms crossed in front of him, silently watching Shane. He didn't like that look in his eyes. Frankly, the second his master had mentioned 'grabbing a bite to eat', he'd had a pretty good idea about the subtext behind it. Shane had done this a few too many times for Tommy not to know what he had planned. And if he'd suddenly decided he wanted Sam joining them as an 'official' member, it could only mean one thing...Tommy didn't have much time left. Shane was going to ice him. Because there was no way he wanted _two_ wimps in the nest, as much as annoyed Tommy to admit he was one. Again, he blamed it on the fact that he was permanently 14.

Well, the bastard had another thing coming. If Tommy didn't get a chance to make his break for it, he wasn't going to make this easy.

"Order up!" The cook shouted, banging on a silver bell at the shack counter.

"That's us," Shane smirked. "You want coke, right?" He glanced over at Sam, who shrugged noncommittally. The kid looked like shit. He was running a nasty fever. If he didn't get more fish blood soon, he'd need a doctor. But they had a day before the surf contest. More than enough time for Tommy to figure out something.

Shane stood up from the table and crossed to the shack counter, grabbing a small coke to go with the burger. Slowly, he brought it back to their table and set the tray down, slipping the lid off of the drink and swiftly dragging a claw across one of his wrists, squeezing just enough blood into the cup to finish what he started, before stirring the straw in the soda and sealing the lid over it.

"Go on, kid," Shane directed Sam, pushing the tray towards him. The boy gulped, eyes locked on the drink.

"You earned it. Drink up." Shane nodded, a slight edge to his voice.

"You know...I...I think I want a coke too!" Tommy decided, getting up and rushing to the counter. Shane ignored him while he watched Sam grab his burger with a trembling hand and slowly unwrap it. Nervously, Tommy looked at the cook and handed him some cash, "hey...you got any vinegar back there?" He asked, gnawing at his bottom lip. The cook nodded, picking up a small bottle and passing it over to Tommy.

"...Thanks. Can't...can't...uh...enjoy my coke without a good bit of vinegar. Clears out the system, y'know?" Tommy whispered, and the man gave him a funny look as he poured an ample amount of the sour fluid into his coke before slapping the lid back on.

"Hey, Shane!" Tommy called, trotting over to the table as he drew his nest leader's attention. Shane frowned at him.

"What?"

"I've been thinking...maybe...maybe it might be cool to learn how to surf, too. Y'know? Bond a little?" Tommy asked hopefully, sitting down at the table just beside Sam.

Shane quirked an eyebrow, "you're not cut out for it," he chuckled.

"No, really...look, I've been working on my moves..." Tommy stood up and crossed around to the other side of the table, pointing out to a sandy area just beyond the patio and using his free hand to try and grab at Shane's, "c'mon, I'll show you."

The older vampire shrugged him away with a slight growl, "I don't need to-"

"Please, Shane!" Tommy cried out, sitting on the table and tucking his hand with his coke behind his back, switching it out with Sam's in one deft movement. "I just want your approval!"

"I'm not your daddy, kid," Shane growled at him, growing irritated.

"...Oh..." Tommy stood up from the table, sighing softly, "I...I just thought we could...I just..."

"Fuck off, go get something to eat," Shane waved an arm at him, patience having quickly fled.

"Yeah...okay...I get it..." Tommy looked down at his feet, trying his best to summon up a tear for effect, but not quite that good of an actor. He slowly walked away, dragging his feet over the patio, Sam's coke clutched firmly in his hands. "I know when I'm not wanted!" Tommy tossed back over his shoulder, one more dramatic line to finish off his scene. Two birds, one stone. He could probably make a break for it now...and he might have even bought that Sam kid another day before Shane figured out what he'd done. Tommy grinned to himself, skipping down the patio steps, not noticing Paul standing on one side, eyeing him curiously.

"OH...oh god!" Sam gasped out, gagging after he took his first hesitant gulp at a warning glare from Shane. The vampire clapped a hand on his back with a grin.

"Tastes good, huh?" Shane inquired dryly.

"NO! It...it really doesn't!" Sam coughed, desperately trying to wipe off his tongue with a paper napkin.

"You'll get used to it," Shane shrugged. "They all do."


	4. Chapter 4: Playing with Fire

Author's notes: Sometimes I sit down at my computer and tell myself 'okay, today's the day. Today's the day you start the next great American novel, become the voice of your generation, commit the very essence of your soul to the screen,' then I pause. 'Nah. One more fan fiction.' Anyway, short chapter tonight because I got home pretty late from work, but longer one tomorrow. Just wanted to get _something_ out today, even if it wasn't much.

* * *

Paul had a choice to make, just to keep his evening interesting. He could trail the small one, kill him, burn off steam...or just let them go and focus on the big fish in their little pond. Not that he cared too much about Mikey's brother, but the kid hopping off down the beach had saved him and the rest of the boys a _massive_ headache later. They'd never hear the end of it if the twerp got turned and had to be put down. Because there was no doubt about it, if he became a fishy fuck, David wasn't going to want let him just hang around. Making a mess and drawing too much attention to them. They already had enough bullshit to deal with now, and it would take a few good years for the tourist traffic to recover from what he'd seen in the last few days.

Then again...Paul was still a little pissed off about that ass-kicking on the lobby ceiling...nah. Still not worth it. Best to just let the little one get away, because judging by his whirlwind of thoughts about Bermuda and Tahiti, he clearly didn't have plans to stick around anyway.

Lingering still on the steps to the concrete patio, he cracked a sly grin. Just because he wasn't going to kill them (the boys would hate to miss the action) didn't mean he wasn't going to have a little bit of fun tonight, anyway. _No one_ could begrudge him that...

* * *

"So, how do you feel?" Shane leaned over the table, intently examining Sam's physical reactions, mentally cataloguing them for later. Floundering in his un-death in the beginning, he liked to think if he was scientific about the whole process, he wouldn't miss the lack of actual guidance from a more experienced leader. Not to mention, he and his...well...they were one of a kind. They'd have to err on the side of caution tomorrow, keep themselves at the ready, however...because Shane still fully planned to depose and dispose of his reluctant maker. Whichever one that actually was. He felt sure it had to be the blonde one with the Mullet, but his memory from that night was sort of a haze. He'd been a little too busy freaking out of his mind to pay attention to the smaller details.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged, avoiding eye contact as best he could, while he focused on taking small bites of his burger to get the taste of sour coke out of his mouth. He'd _seen_ Tommy switch the drinks. He _knew_ it wasn't blood in that cup. But unless the master asked about it directly, he was relieved to note he wasn't immediately magically compelled to voice the fact out loud. Even if Sam hadn't seen the switcharoo take place, there would be no possible way he could ever forget how truly foul Shane's blood tasted. He just...hadn't been expecting vinegar. So, Tommy couldn't be 100% on his side, apparently, but it was better than nothing. Probably his last lifeline unless his brother managed to show up and save the day. Where _was_ Mike, anyway?

"Feeling dizzy? Relaxed? Bit of a buzz?" Shane went through his mental check list of symptoms the kid should be demonstrating, based on his experience with the others.

"A bit dizzy..." Sam admitted, though he chalked that up to his burgeoning chest cold. But this was working. It was _actually_ working. If the master kept his questions short, and Sam kept his answers simple, maybe he could even survive another possible week of crazy, if no one ate him first, and if the master didn't figure out what Tommy had done. Afterwards, all he'd have to worry about then would be the divine wrath of Lucy Emerson...oh man, mom was probably going nuts right now. A pang of guilt struck his mind. What the hell was he even going to say to her? 'Sorry, mom, decided to go ahead and barge off to fight vampires again. With the Frogs. I didn't even have Mike around to help me...then I slept in a cavern and got pneumonia. Just wanted to make sure I did every idiotic thing I could think of before I came home. If I came home. Anyway, what's for dinner?'

* * *

It was...quiet, aside from the labored breathing of the hellhound on the bed, the crackling fires, and the occasional exhale of air as David let out yet another stream of smoke from his cigarette. Still, Michael sat on the couch, an arm thrown over his face, ignoring her to the point that it was almost painfully obvious. Star gave Thorne one last pat and slid away from the mattress. If plaintive looks wouldn't work, clearly giving him a few days to unwind hadn't been effective either. She didn't notice David's eyes trailing her as she slipped across the lobby and sat down beside Michael on the couch. He slowly pulled his arm away from his face and glared at her, before very slowly sitting up and standing, just to walk back to the bed and very pointedly put distance between them again.

Narrowing her eyes, she stood up off the couch and crossed back to the bed, slamming herself down beside him. Enough was enough. They were going to talk this out, whether he liked it or not. Because she couldn't handle it anymore. She wanted him to hit her, rage, _do something!_ Until they had it out, he'd just keep brooding and ignoring her.

Michael jerked away from Star again, standing up and crossing the lobby once more. This time, he decided to lean against the wall, back to her, arms crossed and nostrils flaring. He was getting mad, now. Star smiled secretly to herself and gazed at him through her curtain of dark hair. One more move, and she just _knew_ he'd talk.

David continued to watch them both, expression unreadable. And Star ignored him, because this wasn't about David. It was was about _her_ and _Michael_. As she finally stood up from the bed, receiving a frustrated huff from the dog behind her at the constant jostling of the mattress, Michael snapped.

He narrowed his eyes, " _ **stop it, Star! I'm warning you-**_ "

"Warning me, what? You'll hit me? Is that it? Are you going to hit me, Michael?" Star retorted, striding across the room until she was just barely a few feet away from him.

"No," he hissed through clenched teeth, "but I'm getting pretty fucking close."

"Why are you acting like this? Why won't you even talk to me? I didn't tell Paul to claw your eye out! I didn't _want_ to...I didn't want to screw him!"

Michael scoffed, "this isn't about your rampaging pussie, Star. It's not about my eye, either."

She threw up her hands before letting them fall back to her sides with a frustrated shout, "then what's it about?! **WHAT?!** "

"...You used me. Again. I'm beginning to think that's all you'll ever do. Use me. And I'm tired of it," he replied quietly, turning his head away from her. He couldn't look her in the face right now. There was no more heat in his words. No inflection whatsoever.

With quivering lips, Star came closer to him, and David stirred in his wheelchair, growing agitated with where this scene was going. But he'd let it go just a little further. Give them both a chance to reel it back before he stepped in to do it for them.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, putting her hands on his chest and leaning her face close to his shoulder so she could inhale his scent. "I'm sorry I hurt you..." Oddly enough, she didn't know whether she really was sorry. Watching them fight it out had been _exhilarating_. She just couldn't handle being treated like the bad guy anymore. Because she wasn't. She _wasn't_!

"Yeah, I'm sure you are," he replied icily, even as her fingers inched upwards so she could wrap her arms around him, tipping her head back and licking her lips.

Just as David was finally about to do something, Michael grabbed her hands and pushed her firmly away, "are you fucking kidding me? You think I'm just going to let you do that again, and I'll just forget the whole thing? Am I just some horny dumbass to you?!"

Star looked down at Michael's hands, still grasping her own, and then back up at him, moistening her lips. He wavered, just slightly. Damn it, she _could_ do it again, and he'd give in just like he did the last time, too...because despite everything, despite the fact that she'd treated him like he was just a tool, someone to use to get what she wanted, time and again...she was still _really_ hot. Maybe even hotter, now, in those hip-hugging jeans...his hands twitched to just tear them off and-

"Okay, you two, break it up or I'll do it for you," David called out to them, claws digging into the sides of his wheelchair, scraping at metal and cracked leather padding. While his voice sounded casually amused, he was pinning them both with a death glare. They were playing with fire. He was going to have to have a nice little talk with Paul later, if the idiot wanted to have a mate much longer.

* * *

"I don't serve you, you make many messes! The cleanup is too much!" The cook spat out in broken English, backing away from Paul into the grill behind him, and clutching at his cross nervously. They both knew that wasn't the only reason he didn't want to serve him, but putting it out in the open was just begging for trouble. Eventually, the silly little man would have to go home, and he had no way of knowing whether the rest of the Lost Boys would be waiting for him in the parking lot. His cross was very useful against one, but not so much against a whole pack of bloodthirsty killers. It wasn't nearly big enough to fight them all off. And sure, Paul was the only one out tonight, but he enjoyed the look of fear in the man's eyes far too much to bring it up. It was nice being back in a place where people remembered him, knew what he was and turned a blind eye if he left them alone. Hell, they could have been gone a decade, and the locals would _still_ know not to fuck with them when they came back.

"Fine, man, whatever. Your burgers are shit, anyway," Paul shrugged with a laugh, tossing his hair and spinning about to face the few diners lingering on the patio. A couple pressed close together under the strongest bit of light filtering from the burger shack, an old man shoveling greasy steak fries in his maw and completely heedless of his surroundings, then...of course...Shane and little Sammy. One of them horrified and simultaneously relieved to see a familiar face, while the other one...stupidly amused. Smug, even. Who did the fucker thing he was? David?!

"Heeeeeey, you gonna finish that?" Paul sidled over to their table, snatching Sam's burger from his hand and sniffing at it animatedly, like a dog on a bitch in heat. "Ah, dude, never mind..." he slammed the burger in Shane's face with a grin, smearing the patty and cheese all over the surprised and immediately enraged surfer's face. "Sorry, dude, hand slipped," he cackled, jumping back when Shane shoved his chair away and surged to his feet with an enraged shout.

"C'mon, man, you trying to make a scene in front of all these people? Clean yourself up." Paul waggled his eyebrows, taking a few steps back. "Somebody get this mother fucker a bib!"

And while Paul made his scene, Sam slowly sank beneath the table, crawling behind his chair and doing his best not to make a sound.


	5. Chapter 5: Moody

Author's notes: Youtube is an awful distraction when you're writing. I started with my music playlist, glanced at it once...noticed a link to a video about water facts...before I knew it, I was watching mini food slide reels. Then a Tamil movie I'd been meaning to catch up on...that place is _dangerous_ for someone with ADHD. Anyway, subtle reminder, the make-up for the vamps in the Tribe is bizarre.

* * *

Shane could barely control himself as he reached down to snatch up a fistful of napkins from the table, hardly noticing the sudden mysterious absence of his slave, who was gingerly ducking his head as he tried his best to army crawl out from under the table while Shane was focused on scrubbing away the grease and the cheese from his face. He'd wanted to wait until tomorrow to make his stand and either destroy or drive the old pack out, but his sheer rage and humiliation were enough to quickly make the choice for him: he could deal with this bastard tonight. There'd still be three more waiting for him tomorrow.

"Harry, I told you we should have just gone to Luna Bay tonight!" Whimpered one of the patrons at the burger shack, clinging to her boyfriend as she watched the beginnings of what would no doubt be a very messy fight.

"Come on, sweetie, we'll just take this to go..." Harry replied, quickly wrapping up their meals and shuffling towards the counter to grab a paper sack. There was an electric spark in the air, and even people without the gift of supernatural instincts could feel it. The cook, once he'd passed a bag out to the waiting couple, quickly slammed down the grating over his shop counter and set to work shutting down the restaurant for the night. The only person who remained un-moving was the old man with his greasy fistful of fries. He'd fought in the Korean war. He could handle just about anything. Damn the commies who told him otherwise, he grumbled, licking his salt-split lips and watching for the fight that was undoubtedly about to take place.

"Well, c'mon. You gonna just stand there, or you gonna do something?" Paul taunted, taking a few steps back and giving a few good kicks to a table and some chairs that were in his way, sending them sprawling across the patio so that they had a bit more space to really get into some action.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Shane demanded, smoothing his hair over his shoulder and reaching into a pocket to pull out his sunglasses. Not so useful in your traditional sense, but great for hiding his eyes if he found himself in a bad mood. Drew some attention usually, but not as much as having the whites of his eyes cloud over, pitch black. Funny thing was, he'd had to learn that the hard way when he'd first turned and freaked the fuck out of his old girlfriend. Best meal he ever ate.

"Me?" Paul looked about, putting a finger on his chest and raising his shoulders as he cocked his head. "Me? You mean me, right? Me?"

"Yes, you!" Shane snapped, unwittingly falling prey to Paul's greatest supernatural talent of all: the ability to annoy every single creature on the planet in less than two minutes. Okay, maybe not supernatural, but certainly super-human.

"What'd I do?!" Paul demanded, infuriatingly and very convincingly oblivious. He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, "wait...I get it...it's because I didn't offer you a drink, isn't it?" He cracked a grin, "no problem, buddy!" In the blink of an eye, he was back at their table, reaching for Sam's unfinished coke, but not before Shane could grab it himself and smash the waxy-paper container over Paul's hair.

The older vampire shrieked, stumbling back as if he'd been attacked with concentrated acid, scrubbing furiously at his hair. "Do you know how long it takes to get this 'do to set right? _Without a fucking mirror?_ " Paul hissed, though far too old and (believe it or not) smart to let his face morph.

Shane, on the other hand, didn't give a shit who saw him. He'd hunt them down later and make sure they didn't talk. With a hiss, he leaped forward to try and tackle Paul, who spun about and dodged the attempt, crouching down and cackling giddily. "Dude, what happened to your nose? It has an asscrack!" He taunted, scrambling away when Shane tried to leap at him again. Climbing onto one of the disused tables, Paul spun about and blew a raspberry at the incensed 'Grand High Poobah' of the fishy fucks.

Growling, Shane reached for a chair and hand and sent it sailing through the air, catching Paul by surprise. He hadn't been expecting projectile furniture. Giving a yelp, the rocker vampire spun aside and leaped off of the table, just as the back of one of the chair legs smacked him in the shoulder. With a quick, angry intake of breath, he gave Shane the bird and knelt down to reach for the base of the table to do a bit of his own target practice, only to find Sam cowering beneath it, gazing up at him with no small measure of confusion and fear. With just a second to spare, Paul blew him a quick kiss and sent the table hurtling through the air right for Shane. It nailed him head-on, and he cursed angrily, stumbling back while the wooden tabletop splintered about him, shards clattering to the ground in a spray of lacquer and cedar.

* * *

Sam wanted to stay and watch the fight, for more reasons than he could even begin to list. He wanted to be his master's cheerleader. He wanted to trip the fucker so Mike's asshole friend could beat the shit out of him. He wanted to scour the ground for crickets while they were both distracted. Ultimately, the singular thought of his mom drove him to keep crawling over the concrete. If the master could remain distracted long enough, he might even be able to get away. Taking a deep breath, he just barely managed to find his way to the steps when he found clawed fingers gripping at his shirt collar.

Slowly, very slowly, Sam turned up to find the cocked and grinning head of Shane, staring down at him, sunglasses slipping down his nose just enough for him to get an eyeful of black for the full effect.

"Let's beat it, kid," he coughed, spitting out a bit of his own blood to the ground as he shoved Sam to his feet and hustled him off of the patio.

Paul dashed after them, leaping down the steps to try and block their way, but thought better of it when he noted how tightly Shane was digging his claws into the kid's neck. Looked like he was about to shred the skin and use Mikey's bro as a bloodbag if he had to. Scratching his head, Paul frowned to himself and stepped aside. With one last odd look, Shane hissed at him and ran off into the night, dragging a thrashing Sam behind him.

He tossed his head back with a grumble, running a hand through sticky locks. Not only did he have to have a salty bath in a grody standing pool tonight, but he hadn't even managed to have a satisfying fight. This shit was going to be a cakewalk tomorrow. Here, he'd been hoping that 'nest' was going to be a challenge. Fucking coward.

* * *

The first thing Marko noticed when his feet touched ground just outside of the entrance to the cave was a whirlwind of irritation slicing through the air. David's Michael's. Dwayne's. Paul's. Star's. Even Thorne's. What the hell had he missed?

"Helllooo?" He peeked his head into the lobby, surveying the group with no small measure of curiosity. The Frog brothers were tied up, and this time they were gagged, too...seated in the darkest corner of the room, helpless to do anything but simply wait and watch the goings-on. The one with the headband was plotting his escape, while the other one was plotting how best to beat the shit out of his brother if they got out of their predicament. Marko would have snickered if he hadn't caught the odd look on David's face.

"Somebody die in here?" Marko asked warily, before slowly cracking a grin, "and I missed it?!"

 _"Don't start,"_ Dwayne warned, glancing over at David, who looked like he was just about ready to kill his two fledglings, both sitting on opposite sides of the couch with Dwayne in-between them.

 _"Shit._ _Am I too late for the soap opera?"_ _"_ Marko advanced into the room, flopping down beside Paul on the fountain and reaching up to ruffle his hair, only to find his gloves coated in fish-tainted coke. "Fuck, man! You need a bath!" He wrinkled his nose, wiping a glove off on his pants, sliding a little further away from the rocker vampire who sent him a death glare as he combed his hair to the side.

"Star," David said aloud, turning to glance at their female pack member, who was split between the dangerous choice of ignoring him or having to meet his gaze with a pout. Reluctantly she settled on the latter option, too partial to being 'alive' to do otherwise.

"Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up, huh? You smell like dead fish." He remarked as he leaned forward, "maybe cool that crotch down, too, while you're at it," he added with a hiss.

Star's jaw dropped open in shock, as she climbed to her feet and made a concentrated effort to do anything but spit out a response. Marko watched her stride from the lobby, remaining silent, very loudly, the entire time.

"The fuck is wrong with everybody?" Marko cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on the fountain with a sigh, "why do I always miss the good stuff, huh?"

"Shut up, Marko," Michael grumbled, flipping through an old magazine he snatched up from the ground by the couch, not paying attention to the cover as he glared at the pictures and articles therein.

"So...what are the secrets to sensational skin, Mikey?" Marko cooed, leaning forward and crossing his hands over his knees with an innocent smile.

"What?" Michael glanced up at him, a nerve twitching in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.

"Just wondering. Haven't caught up to that copy of Seventeen yet," he shrugged, snickering when Michael actually looked down at the magazine he was pretending to read and threw it behind him with a sneer of disgust.

Dwayne glanced between them with a snort, "water."

"What?" Marko looked over at him.

"Water. That's always the answer. 'Shitty sex life?' Drink water. 'Acne?' Drink water. 'Need a better job?' Drink water."

For awhile, an awkward silence descended over the group.

"Dwayne," Marko, being the only one in a good mood, broke the ice.

"What?"

"...How much Seventeen have you read, dude?"

David snorted, turning to look at Paul, deciding to resort to mental conversation so Michael was kept out of the loop. Sooner or later he'd have to learn, too, but the option of keeping him in the dark certainly had it's perks, as difficult as he and Star were being. He hadn't ever had this much trouble getting a couple of fledglings to chill the hell out. _"You need to mark her, already. Put the fucking pants on. She's starting to piss me off,"_ he warned the rocker vampire, idly dragging a claw over the side of his wheelchair and carving up a chunk of cracked leather padding from the handle.

 _"What did she do?"_ Paul asked, leaning forward with a grin. His frustration from the half-finished fight back on the boardwalk temporarily forgotten.

 _"What do you think?!"_ His eyes slid possessively back towards Michael, who didn't miss the look, not one to pass up the opportunity to flip David the bird.

Marko rolled his eyes and smirked, " _I don't think princess has the balls. Bet she had him crying her name like a little bitc-_ "

' ** _THUMP!_ '**

"HEY!" Marko shouted, rubbing his shoulder where Paul had practically made a dent with his fist. " _Chill out, princess! You get sand in your vagina, or something?!_ "

Surging to his feet, Paul spun about on his heels and stomped out of the lobby.

Michael watched him leave, scratching the back of his head. "Did I miss something?" He looked around at the others, more than a little confused at what had just happened. He paused. "...I'm starving. Are we just going to hang out here _all night?_ "

Nobody missed the way the Frog brothers shifted uncomfortably on the ground, suddenly very aware just how appetizing they probably looked right now.

* * *

A gust of wind brushed over Star's shoulder, guiding and carrying her hair about her as she slid her jacket down and let it fall to the ground. She'd found a nicely isolated strip of beach, far from the lights and sounds of any remnants of crowds still somehow lingering on the boardwalk in the distance, and luckily there was a standing pool from an earlier tide, large enough to relax in and scrub herself down. She'd have to get some soap, later. Salt and the odd tickle of a crab or trapped sea creature wasn't the most effective way to take a refreshing evening bath. But it helped to wash away some of the clinging scent of old blood from recent meals. It was certainly better than nothing, she supposed, as she kicked off her shoes and hose before she set to work on the rest of her clothing.

As she settled neck-deep into the water, Star threw her head back to let the moonlight and water wash over her, picking through a whirlwind of thoughts in the process. She didn't like the way her life had changed so drastically. It wasn't the blood-drinking that bothered her, which she supposed it should. That part had been surprisingly easy to adjust to. Losing any sense of humanity and conscience for other living beings certainly contributed.

The part that she hated the most about this new life she hadn't even wanted was the fact that each night she awoke with less memories. Long term ones. The night before, she could swear she remembered her tenth birthday, and now she couldn't even recall actually _being_ ten. More and more, it was like the present was somehow digging into her very sense of self, making her feel like she was always pack. Like there'd never been a time _before_.

What's more, she hated the oddly possessive feelings she had about Paul, after that insane romp with her knitting needles. She hated the fact that she actively wanted to be around him, to sleep beside him. In a way, that's why she'd been so adamant to get Michael's attention tonight. She'd wanted to prove to herself she still had a choice, that she still _loved_ him.

But who was she fooling? She couldn't even identify with that feeling anymore. It was becoming so alien, Star could barely comprehend that she'd ever _felt_ it. Unlike Michael, Star didn't have family to help ground such a memory.

There was a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, and Star spun about in the water, kicking her feet against slippery rocks and sand, startled to find that in less than the blink of an eye, she was pressed uncomfortably close to a _very_ feral-looking Paul.

"Miss me, sweetheart?" He cocked his head, his fangs flashing in the moonlight as he wrapped his hands around her, and dug his claws deep into the small of her back so that trails of dark blood floated up to mingle with salty water.


	6. Chapter : Trashing It

Author's notes: Warning. Paul. Star. They do things. She didn't want to. And also, yes...Shane is _definitely_ an idiot. But you already knew that by now, right? But, honestly, what better way to make the Lost Boys see red, huh? Anyway, short chapter tonight, but I hope the twist made up for it XD.

* * *

Star pressed the flats of her palms against Paul's chest to try and wrestle some distance between them, glaring up into his inhuman eyes. He was immovable. "So we're doing this again, tonight?" She spat out, hackles rising. Trapped in the moment, she _knew_ that this time...there was no chance she'd get the upper hand. She could have palmed a knife when she'd climbed into the water, or kept knitting needles at the ready in a perpetual bun, but she hadn't, so now she didn't even have the benefit of a small weapon to keep him busy while she got away.

"You've been causing a lot of trouble for me lately, girl," Paul leaned in, somehow impossibly closer, dragging his tongue over the side of her neck. In that instant, she managed to wrestle one arm out from between him to try and press his face away, but he quickly turned towards the offending hand to snap at it with razor sharp teeth. She quickly pulled her fingers away just in time, gasping with a fresh wave of pain as his claws dug even deeper into her back, carving grooves into her flesh as if she were a lump of shapeless clay. The salty water of the standing pool made her wounds burn that much more.

"You started it! If you'd just left me alone-" she protested.

"David woulda killed you tonight," Paul snorted, spinning her about in the water and unwrapping one of his arms so he could grasp at her flailing wrist and hold her steady while she still continued to try and struggle against him. "You're lucky I _did_ want you. So stop being such a prissy bitch about it," he grinned, biting into her bottom lip and licking up the droplets that blossomed on the pink flesh there. "Don't tell me this doesn't feel good," he groaned against her face, as she shivered involuntarily and squeaked against the odd combination of tenderness and pain. The feelings were one and the same for creatures like them.

Star threw her head back as far as she could with a shout, trying to lift her knees in the water to wedge them and push herself away, but she simply wasn't strong enough, "I'm not going to make this easy for you!"

Flipping her around, Paul pinned both of Star's arms to her side, nuzzling his face into her hair, thoroughly drenched now, " _neither am I_ ," he replied darkly, his voice echoing in her mind. Claws drawn, Star shrieked and tried to wrestle herself from his grasp, only made that much more aware as he managed to pin her against the sandy lip of the standing pool that _she_ was a woman. And _he_ was a man.

As her feet kicked and she struggled to push them against the barrier she was being roughly pressed against, Paul kept a firm grip on both of her arms he'd pinned to her sides, and pressed forward to force them against the wall while he craned his head to the side to dig his fangs into her neck. If it weren't for the humiliation she'd put him through in so very many ways, he might have made it good for her. But as it was, his animalistic rage had the edge tonight, as he ground his teeth into her skin and tore viciously at it. More blood seemed to spill about them in the water than he actually managed to drink, dying their bath pink. Like a romantic Jacuzzi at a honeymoon spa.

Even with her strength spilling from her neck with each vicious pull of Paul's mouth, Star continued to struggle and throw everything she had into loosening his grip, but he wasn't playing nice anymore tonight. The blood pooled into his stomach, bitter, strong, honeyed. So much more satisfying than when he'd drunk from her wrist, the spell of him finally gaining control weaving itself between them. She was barely conscious when he pressed forward and nestled inside her, only distantly aware of who and where she was while she floated on a cotton candy cloud laced with iron wool. Didn't even realize the cries of agony and bliss echoing about them were her own.

* * *

Edgar and Alan were alone. Trapped in the darkness of the sunken hotel, while the Lost Boys went out to grab a bite to eat. They hadn't even left one oil barrel burning, and as it was, Edgar could barely see past his own nose. With one sense deadened, he felt like his others were magnified. The monstrous dog on the bed nearby stirred and breathed deep, growing more and more restless as his strength seemed to slowly be returning.

Testing the gag in his mouth with his tongue, Edgar tried to shake his head about and dislodge it, with very little success. This was, without a doubt, way worse than burying themselves in rank-smelling sand. At least he could still talk.

"Ed?" Alan whispered in the dark. He grunted in response. His brother had been left un-gagged, for reasons he couldn't even begin to understand. The fact that he'd kept his mouth shut outside after Dwayne's warnings didn't enter into his mind as a possibility. The way he saw it, each and every single thing these bloodsuckers did to them was a sick or cruel game. They should have just holed up in Sam's room and awaited the arrival of these bastards one-by-one to handle them on their own terms. Oh well. You live. You learn. Sometimes you're breakfast. That's just the way life panned out sometimes. Oh shit, what was he thinking?! He couldn't just give in like this! The city needed the Frog brothers!

Edgar shifted in his bonds, whimpering and squirming to try and break free.

"Dude, stop! You're chafing me!" Alan shouted, the thick strips of fabric that bound them together rubbed against his chest and wrists each time his brother moved behind him.

"Mfffhgghn, hmmmhrmm!" Edgar protested.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, too." Alan replied, letting out a deep breath.

"Hrrnrrnn?!" Edgar exclaimed, confused.

"Oh, thought you were apologizing."

"Grnnnfffrrr..."

"How is this _my_ fault?! I was just following _you_!"

"Hrnn mfrgnggnn, rrrrrhhh!"

"Fine. I take it back. I'm _not_ sorry," Alan replied snippily, before pausing for a very long time. "Oh, and by the way...I was the one who told that chick about your dick rash."

"Arrrrn! Rrhhh arrhrrhh!"

"Whatever, Ed. It was funny. I didn't know she'd try to take pictures of it and post them up in the girls bathroom. Maybe next time don't hog the remote," Alan shrugged.

Their discussion was immediately cut short by the sound of a loud clattering in one of the oil barrels near the entrance to the hotel, as a group of black-eyed monsters arrived on the scene with a guilty-looking Sam in tow. The Hellhound stirred on his bed, growling viciously at the familiar intruders.

Shane grinned, clapping a hand over Sam's shoulders, "thanks for the tip, kid. Let's have a bit of fun before they get back, huh?" He chuckled flatly, as Dallas crossed behind him with his bad arm in a sling, using the good one to push over one of the oil barrels. Old ash and charred beech-wood spilled onto the ground. Edgar and Alan watched them, petrified as they tried to shrink into themselves like turtles, deathly silent.

Sam's eyes fell on them, and he shook his head, putting a finger on his mouth to indicate for them to be quiet. He was admittedly surprised to see the Frog brothers in another kind of mess, only vaguely similar to his own, but he had other things to focus on right now. Namely, figuring out a way to keep the master here long enough to meet his brother and the others. Hopefully they didn't trash the place _too bad_ before Mike showed up...

"Oh, look at the little doggie!" Leonard cooed, crossing towards the bed and tearing the moth-eaten canopy down to toss it into the only lit oil barrel. Thorne howled angrily, trying to climb to his feet and launch himself from the mattress, but immediately collapsing into the folds of the moldy bedding with a whine.

"Want me to finish him off, Shane?" Leonard turned back to face the leader of their nest, who'd just now gotten his hands on David's wheelchair, and was busy twisting the wheels into pretzels. He paused, throwing the former throne against the wall with a loud clatter, and glanced back over at the bed with a shrug. "Shave him. Doesn't look like he can do anything about it, right now."

Shane just then noticed Edgar and Alan tied together, and broke into a vicious grin. "Well, well, well...you're the geeks from that comic shop, aren't you?"

Alan looked back and forth between the small group fearfully, eyes settling on Sam with a glimmer of hope. The youngest Emerson avoided making eye contact with him, leaning against the wall and focusing intently on his shoes. His incredibly fascinating shoes...he couldn't believe they weren't here! That had been the whole point of leading Shane to the place. It had been the perfect plan. And it was falling apart. But now there was nothing he could do but watch, if he wanted to stay on the master's good side...

"Us? No. No. Not us...We're board carvers. Aren't we, Ed? Board carvers? We carve boards...for surfers..." Alan urged his brother desperately, not too keen on revealing their secret (or maybe not so secret) identities.

"Hrrmmnn, rrrhggg!" Edgar snapped.

"Shut up, Ed!" Alan shouted back at him angrily, and turned his head as far as he could, trying to look back at his brother bound behind him.

"What do you wanna do with them?" Aaron, the generally silent member of their group spoke up, trailing around the lobby until he found himself directly facing a massive poster of Jim Morrison. He smirked, digging into his pocket to pull out a lighter and leaning forward to set the corner ablaze. It caught quickly, burned fast, and in no time he was batting bits of flying black ash, the fluttering remnants of the lizard king.

"Wait!" Sam spoke up, voice cracking. All eyes were suddenly on him, and he desperately wracked his brain for some kind of idea, anything to convince them not to kill the Frogs...though god knew why he even cared, at this point. "They're gonna need witnesses, right?! Some...somebody to tell them how awesome this was?" He suggested hopefully. "Don't bite the messenger...r-...r-right?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Shane replied, kneeling down to pick up a hardbound copy of Moby Dick, stripping the pages out one by one and tossing them about.

"JACKPOT!" Greg howled into the darkness, drawing everyone's attention anew as he crawled out from behind an old steamer trunk with a large goody bag of multi-colored pills. "Hey, Shane, when we deal with those fuckers tomorrow, why don't we clean this place up and take it for ourselves, huh?" He added, grabbing a fistful of the goodies and shoving them into his mouth.

At this point, Sam's eyes were nearly popping out of his head. Holy shit...this had been...the _worst_ idea he'd ever had. He was _dead_!


	7. Chapter 7: Black Smoke

Author's notes: Got melodramatic with myself this morning and almost wiped all of my stories. Okay, I didn't even come close to almost. But I still thought about it. Came back to my senses before I actually started to seriously consider doing it. Don't worry, not going to happen. Put way too much time into these things to let it.

* * *

The older a vampire was, the less frequently one needed to feed. David, for instance, could go up to four days without blood if he absolutely had to. Marko and the others could make it to three before they started to get _really_ uncomfortable. But for Michael and Star, even one night without feeding was more than a little rough on them. So, tonight they went hunting. And for quite some time, it would be a regular thing until they'd both acclimated to their changes. The first year...that one was the worst.

Parked on the boardwalk in their usual spots, they observed the thinning crowds. It was getting a little later. Maybe more difficult to grab a kill or two without anybody noticing their absence, but easier to find those who were far more susceptible to being seduced by their allure. The later a human stayed out, after all, the less they truly knew about the dangers of Santa Carla. Especially where the Lost Boys where concerned.

"Go on, Michael, take your pick. We've got _all_ night," David whispered in his mate's ear, gripping the back of his neck with a feather-light touch, just long enough to let the words pool in his mind, the permanent bond between them helping his silken voice to work it's magic in the pit of Michael's stomach, the longer he resisted and denied his _need_ for David. Despite the fact that he'd had the most incredible sex in his life...three times...he just couldn't seem to accept what they had together. Didn't want to. The folly of claiming him far too quickly, David supposed. He didn't mind too much, though. This was way too fun to have any real regrets. And once they dealt with those idiots trying to take what wasn't theirs, could never _be_ theirs, he could focus all of his energy on forcing Michael's hand. Because they weren't going to go any further until he begged for it...and David knew it wouldn't be long. Judging how easy it was to fuck him after that last fight. Plus, if Paul managed to finally do his part, Star would be far from interested in trying to hang on to the man she'd lost the same night she'd met him. The folly of showing a toy to David when he had nothing to play with. Even if he hadn't made his choice until Michael impaled him on those horns, he'd still had more than a small passing interest in the boy when he first set eyes on him.

"Will you back off?" Michael shrugged David away and turned away from him, too distracted by his gnawing hunger to put too much heat into his words. Or, at least, what was what he'd told himself. He'd been on edge when he woke up. It got even worse after the episode with Star. It was like the world was conspiring to keep him perpetually horny. He was going to get some serious chafing under the belt if this kept up. 'Partying all night? Never growing old?' Completely fucking over-rated, if this last week was anything to judge by.

"Feeling alright, Mikey? You look like you got something riding your mind," Marko craned forward to grin at him, "or...riding your-"

Dwayne nudged the shorter vampire with a firm shake of his head, " _wait until we get home to start something. We don't want him losing it with all these people around_."

Marko threw his head back with a dramatic eyeroll and shrugged, " _where's the fun if nobody else is around to see it?_ "

" _Marko,_ " David warned, though a slight smirk was tugging at his lips. " _You're acting up a lot lately. Maybe you need to get laid, huh? I'll get you some kleenex._ "

The shorter vampire's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms with a huff, " _every time I get my hands on a nice pair, you guys gang up on me and eat her!_ "

" _That's not true_ ," David insisted, " _you get too excited. That's your problem. You go off too soon, they laugh, then you rip their heads off while you're still crying-_ "

Marko snarled, though he didn't meet his pack leader's eyes when he did so. He'd only embarrass himself more if he openly tried to challenge the asshole, " _I don't cry!_ "

"Okay, you've got to stop doing that. All of you. It's pissing me off," Michael spoke up, looking between them.

"Stop what?" David asked innocently.

"I don't know..." Michael floundered, "the weird...body language or whatever it is you do that gets you so worked up, and I don't even know what the fuck is going on. Stop doing that."

 _"He's got a point. Gotta clue them in one of these days,"_ Dwayne remarked.

David tucked a cigarette between his lips with a sly smirk, _"when I finally get what I want, sure. Until then, I don't see the rush."_

Dwayne quirked an eyebrow, "I'm _sorry, I don't really understand. Haven't you already gotten what you wanted? Multiple times?"_

 _"He's not making is easy. Gotta break his pride before he'll admit he's mine."_ David replied.

 _"Don't see why he needs to admit it,"_ Marko interjected, " _or is are you just getting your rocks off watching him squirm?_ " He paused. "Davey, you dirty birdy!"

The trio in their private conversation chuckled, not at all surprised to find Michael walking away from them with a frustrated huff.

"Where you going, Michael?" David called out, pulling away from his bike. He wasn't going to let the brunette out of his sight, this time. And he meant it.

"Grabbing a bite to eat. Isn't that why we're here?" Michael threw over his shoulder, refusing to look back. Because he just knew David would be following close behind.

* * *

The first thing she saw as Star floated back to earth from the abyss of a delicious nightmare she couldn't quite remember, were two blue eyes hovering above her, glittering with the aura of deep satisfaction. She was lying on her back, bare, in the sand, cradled close to Paul just beyond the dangerous reach of the rolling tide. She was dizzy. Tired. Hungry. But there was a bone deep satisfaction that more than made up for it as she found herself burrowing into the scent and feel of the wild blonde beside her. He wasn't Michael. Would never be Michael. But he was home. Somehow, the monster inside told her she could learn to live with this. Because it was better than the alternatives: death or loneliness. Neither was too terribly appealing.

"Wanna go out? Catch up with the boys? I bet they headed out by now. I know you're hungry," he whispered against her forehead, nuzzling and leaning down to nip at the top of her ear.

"I don't want to see them right now," she replied quietly, jerking one of her feet up when the tide just barely began to rise and licked at her toes. They edged a little further up the shore together, Paul grabbing Star's shoulders to pull her into a sitting position, and pressing her face close to his neck.

"Just drink, then we can just go back home and chill. Sound cool?"

Her reply was a muffled groan as she let two slender fangs descend and pierced his jugular with an exhausted sigh. Paul really wasn't her first choice. But...she supposed she'd just have to make do. It was becoming hard to think, with his blood flowing into her, drawing them ever closer. She could feel herself growing stronger, life-starved cells swelling with new vitality, the aches and pains of their wild pairing easing to a dull throbbing in her muscles. This was better than sex...

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Sam couldn't convince the others to stay. Shane was dead set on having their final encounter with the Lost Boys just before the contest tomorrow night. He insisted the rush would help him ride the waves. And at this point, there really wasn't much left to destroy. They hadn't entirely managed to shave the dog. Thorne had struggled and bit Dallas so much in the process, the bleeding vampire nearly lost it and tried to snap the hellhound's neck. But his coat was patchy and sparse now, so Shane decided that was good enough. He didn't like dogs, and didn't much relish the idea of finishing the job.

Edgar and Alan had been upended into separate oil barrels, their legs flailing over the sides. The couch was doused with lighter fluid, and set aflame. Black smoke curled about it, filling the lobby and rushing out to send a final message, a signal of what had taken place.

Trailing after his master and the others, Sam gave one final look about him with a sinking heart. He really hoped Michael had enough sway to keep them from snapping his neck when they found out who'd led Shane to the hotel. Maybe if he was lucky...they wouldn't connect the dots...though, not likely...

* * *

Michael licked the blood from his lips, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the side of the shop building, tucked away in the shadows of a small alley with the remains of his meal falling to the ground. No one special. Just an old surfer down on his luck, begging for cash from the wrong guy. He was clean, though, so his blood tasted good. Fresh. Full of a wasted life.

"Done?" David called from the end of the alley, guarding Michael from wondering eyes as a splash of light from the shops around them painted his skin yellow. Michael turned his head to rest his burning cheek against cool brick, waiting for the golden haze in his eyes to dissipate as he kept them fastened on his master. It was easier to see an appeal of David after a fresh kill. The world was so much brighter, so much richer...and right now, he just wanted to share the taste of his meal with his mate, revel together in this spike of adrenaline he had pumping through his system instead of just letting it go to waste...

"Yeah, I'm done," Michael rasped, shaking his head to clear his mind and pushing himself away from the wall. Blood was becoming a very dangerous addiction. He was beginning to worry he'd have to figure out ways to feed miles away from David, so these fucking thoughts would stop digging into his brain. The bastard wasn't making this any easier on him. And the way David was eyeing him, it was like he just _knew_ what he was doing, too.

" _Fuck you, David. **You** did this to me, you asshole..._ " Michael thought to himself, completely unaware how very clear those words rang out to David, making his grin grow even wider. The brunette's walls of self-denial were crumbling. Sooner, rather than later, he'd give in. Faster than he even realized. And, as always, David would be waiting.

* * *

Once they'd dressed and prepared to leave, sand and rock whirled beneath them as Star and Paul rose into the air together, taking an expedient route to the sunken hotel; they saw and smelt the smoke long before they reached home.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Paul exclaimed, rushing inside with Star on his trail. They were hailed by the deep whines of Thorne, and coughing fits interspersed with the echoing screams of the Frog brothers.


	8. Chapter 8: Such A Tease

Author's notes: I feel like this chapter is going to need some kind of Twilight Zone-esque introduction. There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man, a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, where my roommate convinced me to write this concept for him I've been putting off since I started these stories. It is an area which we call the shameless semi-smut zone. Cue cigarette smoke. Also, might not be posting again until Monday. We shall see.

* * *

Star threw Alan onto the ground and took a deep breath, steeling her shoulders as she headed back into the hotel lobby to fetch the other Frog brother from his own oil barrel. She didn't really need to breathe, but the exercise was still nice. Paul was too busy seeing to the damages done and freaking out about his weekend stash to help, so she couldn't help but send him a few dirty looks as she managed to retrieve a very distressed and semi-conscious Edgar, tossing him out into the open air before returning to the lobby and rushing over to the only remaining piece of furniture left undamaged: the bed. Even then, the canopy was woefully shredded beyond repair, wispy scraps of lace fluttering in the air amid curls of fading black smoke.

"Uppers. Downers. In-betweeners...all gone!" Paul kicked one of the remaining oil barrels, grumbling as he laid a heavy tarp over the still burning remains of the couch, effectively trapping the flames therein. The lobby would smell terrible for weeks, a sensory-assaulting combination of burnt upholstery and fish. He crouched beside the tarp, tugging and tucking small portions of material to ensure not one whisper of air stoked the fire beneath it. Their prime hang-out spot would never be the same.

"It gives us a good reason to clean," Star remarked, sitting down on the mattress and gingerly rubbing her fingers over Thorne's coat. "Poor thing," she sighed, leaning down to press her face to the side of his muzzle. He whined pathetically, milking it just a little for the sake of a bit of babying.

"You're going to spoil the bastard doing shit like that all the time," Paul called out, jerking the tarp away from the charred remains of the couch, flinching and putting a finger in his mouth when a burst of steam and smoke surged up to burn his hand. "Hellhounds don't need love. You feed them. They watch over you. That's it."

"Don't you have some cleaning to do?" Star asked, pulling a blanket up over the dog to cover some of his patchy fur. Paul was right, though. He could easily get far too comfortable with this new set-up if she wasn't careful. And they didn't need a spoiled rotten dog from the pits of Hades lingering around the hotel giving half-hearted attempts to defend them, and begging for treats if one of the boys got ashed because he hadn't been doing his job properly.

"I don't see why we need to clean," Paul shrugged, kicking one of the twisted wheels of David's wheelchair to send it sailing into the wall with a loud clatter.

Star wrinkled her nose and stood up from the bed, "might help get rid of the smell," she suggested. "And we could even find some stuff in the other rooms, too. Decorate a bit, spruce it up-"

Paul held up his hands, waving them wildly, "no. _No_. **_No_**. You're making it sound like you wanna bring a bunch of flowers and shit in here. That's where I draw the god damn line. I'm cool with tossing this stuff out and spraying the place down, maybe grabbing some furniture from one of the old rooms, but fuck all if I'm going to 'spruce it up'. The boys would have a shit fit if they came back to a bunch of Georgia O'keefe pussie tulips plastered all over the wall."

Star rolled her eyes and trailed out of the lobby, "okay. No sprucing. Whatever. I'm going to go see what I can dig up." She paused, spinning about on her heels, "you know, you don't have to do any of the cleaning...you could have the kids outside do it," she suggested with a small smile. Yeah, maybe she didn't hate the Frog brothers, but she still hadn't forgotten what they'd tried to pull with Laddie. She didn't see any problem with putting them to work, provided they were still conscious outside. She hadn't bothered to check on them once she'd finished leaving them to air out.

* * *

David killed the engine of his bike, sniffing at the air suspiciously. He could just pick up the lingering fragrance of smoke, burnt fabric, rotten fish, and...Michael's little brother. Something was very... _very_ wrong. His glance slid towards the others, an unmistakable air of tension winding itself around them. He snarled, dashing towards the lobby entrance, full game face at the ready. The scent wasn't strong enough. He _knew_ they weren't there anymore. And there wasn't time anymore to go out again in pursuit of their trail...but there was no doubt in his mind what the bigger picture was tonight. There was only one way they could have found the hotel. And he'd need a pretty good fucking reason not to wring the little bastard's neck, whether Michael gave him the cold shoulder for the next twenty years or not...

* * *

"Alan, I'm seeing stars...I don't think I'm gonna make it through this," Edgar wheezed as he scooped another armful of burnt scraps and trash to lay it over the tarp Paul had used to put out the couch fire.

"You're gonna be fine, Ed," Alan rasped, wiping sweat from his brow as he finally finished rolling the last oil barrel into the center of the room. It was impossible to clean the lobby completely, not with the limited time they had, or the fact that both of them were still dizzy and recovering from their near suffocation at the hands of Shane and his surfing suckers. The only good thing that had come out of all this was the fact that they knew for certain Sam was still alive, and they got the chance to stretch their legs after the longest day in history tied to each other and forced to bond more than enough to last a lifetime.

The only thing left undisturbed in the whole room was the fountain, and only because it would have taken a hell of a lot longer to trash than everything else. Ed and Alan had watched it all, terrified, and all too aware the blame for the whole mess could easily be placed on them merely for being accomplices by association.

Twisted Sister and the hippie chick were off in some other room, gathering only good knew what. They'd already managed to fetch a faded Edwardian couch from the very bowels of the maze-like cave, as if by magic. It was like this place was some sort of macabre warehouse, a tribute to the decades these monsters spent destroying and debasing countless human lives in Santa Carla. Edgar and Alan had no way of knowing this had once been a hotel. They hadn't had the chance to explore much the last time they'd been here, and even less this time around. As far as they were concerned, it was just an elaborately re-structured cave. Anything recognizable from the posh setting it had once been was long worn away by time and damp air.

Edgar dusted off his hands, grimacing at the way ash and dust seemed to make a sticky black mess between his fingers, rubbing them off on his pant legs in a desperate attempt to get rid of the 'icky' feeling, "I'm...I'm sorry, Alan."

His brother stopped mid-step, just as he tossed a couple of broken wood scraps into an oil barrel, "what?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"Dude...really?"

"...Yeah..."

They stood there, awkwardly, not meeting each other's eyes. "Uh...yeah, thanks...I'm sorry, too...I guess..." Alan replied with a shrug. Not sure what he was sorry about, but tit for tat anyway. If they were gonna die tonight or tomorrow, he didn't want to get offed hating his idiot brother. His timing sure sucked, though. This was the sorta thing he should have been saying when Sam got hauled off, or when they had to piss outside with that shirtless bloodsucker guarding their backs, not when they were playing house in what could possibly be their final hours on this earth.

" **Oh, come on! You gotta be kidding me!** " Marko shouted from the lobby entrance, skipping close behind on David's heels and jerking his head around in confusion. His eyes landed on the Frog brothers angrily, "the fuck happened, you little pricks?!" In an instant, he had his clawed hands dug deep into their shoulders, pressing Ed and Alan against the cave wall, hovering half a foot in the air and snarling directly in their faces. His breath...was... _awful_.

* * *

"I think you broke them," Dwayne remarked dryly, poking at the whimpering teenagers on the ground with the tip of his boot. All they could do was babble and cling to each other, at the mercy of their vampiric tormentors.

Marko snickered, tying one end of the tarp to the other and dragging it into a corner of the lobby to clear some space, "not my fault. They were broken before I got here," he replied lightly and rose into the air to dive-bomb their 'new' couch. He wasn't happy with it. The cushions from old Betsy had been broken in just the way he liked them. But...eh...better than lying on the ground. The wooden legs of the furniture squeaked in light protest as he settled down and propped himself up on an elbow while he surveyed the lobby. "Fuckers did a number on the place," he sighed, glancing over at David...who...as of yet...had yet to say anything. He was still too busy crouching over the remains of his 'throne', mourning the loss of his best friend.

Michael, meanwhile, was edging around the room with his arms crossed, his mind a jumble of worried and angry thoughts, laced with the same sense of territorial rage they were all experiencing right now.

Just then, Paul sailed into the room through a wispy curtain, stereo grasped in his hands as he cackled victoriously, "told you mother fuckers you shoulda kept your shit on lock-down," he taunted, descending towards the fountain and landing gracefully on the side before slumping down and tossing his head back with a grin. An instant later, Star was floating through the curtain as well, arms wrapped around a shoe box full of tapes.

David glanced over at her, a slight glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he noted the way she didn't even pause to look at Michael as she sat down beside Paul and began to dig through the collection of tapes. At least Paul had finally done _something_ right, even though he took his sweet god damned time doing it.

"Michael," David turned away from his old wheelchair and crossed his arms.

Michael very pointedly looked away from him, temporarily deaf, it would seem.

"Michael," David repeated, this time a little firmer. A note of warning lingered in his tone.

The brunette tucked his hands into his pockets and reluctantly walked towards him, "what do you want, David?" He was trying desperately to keep his attitude firmly under control, knowing the delicate balance his brother's life finally hung in right now. Michael wasn't stupid. He knew Sam was probably a major player in this whole thing. After all, Sam was one of the few people who even knew about the place. He really hoped it was that freaky thrall shit making him do something so stupid. Michael still loved his little brother; he'd still give his life for him, but there was only so much sway he probably had right now. He'd been forced into the pack, after all. And the constant fighting he'd been doing with David, warranted or not, wasn't going to make a very good case for saving Sam's neck.

"Give me a good reason...a really good reason not to..." David's smirk spread very slowly, a dark thought brewing behind his eyes. He didn't need to finish his sentence for Michael to know what he meant.

"If you do, I'll never forgive you," Michael shrugged, voice flat and matter-of-fact.

"Oh? Are you sure about that?" David leaned back against the wall, so very sure of himself that it made Michael want to snap at him. Again, though, this was not the time.

"Yes."

"You will. Eventually."

Michael pulled his upper lip back in a silent sneer, "he's family, David."

Pulling away from the wall, the blonde advanced on his mate, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on Michael's shoulders, " _not good enough_. What else do you got?"

It made him sick to even think about saying it, and this certainly wasn't how Michael envisioned his night going, but...fuck it, mom would kill him if he let David do anything to Sam, "...I'll...I'll do whatever you want."

Dwayne sat down on the couch beside Marko and passed him a twenty dollar bill with an irritated grumble. The smaller vampire wiggled his eyebrows and snickered, glancing over at Paul as the rocker vampire set his stereo beside him and patted his jacket half-heartedly.

" _Sorry, man, I'm cleaned out. I'll owe ya,_ " he grinned and winked, turning back to watch the rest of the little game.

"Great!" David took his hands off of Michael's shoulders with a chuckle, "I'm bored. I want a show."

"...the fuck?!" Michael was _very_ confused.

* * *

David, Marko, and Dwayne sat on the couch together, a little cramped, but it was the perfect vantage point for what was about to happen. Paul and Star remained on the ground in front of them, Star's finger at the ready on the play button. She didn't like to torment Michael. She didn't like to torment anyone. But...she had to admit this was pretty funny, in a twisted way.

Michael paced nervously with his arms crossed, glancing back at them every so often and then up at the ceiling.

"Get on with it, Mikey," Paul called out, "Davey's boy parts are getting all squirmy-" David punched Paul in the back of the head and he jerked forward, "shit! Asshole!" He turned to hiss up at the the pack leader, who gave him a derisive sneer in response.

"I can't do this," Michael shook his head and uncrossed his arms. "I can't do this!"

David drummed his fingers on the side of the couch, "I'm fine with that. I'll probably be pretty hungry tomorrow night, anyway. Bet Sammie tastes real good with some salt and a stick of celery."

Michael huffed, "...I don't know how."

"All ya gotta do is take some shit off and shake it," Paul called out.

"There's more to it than that. Needs some flare...somebody get this bitch some feathers!" Marko joined in, cackling when Michael knelt down to snatch up a small rock and send it sailing right towards him. Marko ducked just in time, the top of it skipping along his hair.

"It's really not that hard," Star suggested, "just do what feels right. Do it for your brother." She couldn't help it, she just wasn't very good at jeering. Michael glanced at Star, some of the heat from his anger at her dissipating just a little.

"Okay, fine...whatever...just press play," Michael grumbled as he finally came to a stop from his restless pacing and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart.

Star nodded with a smile, and hit the button. Soon, gentle guitar music pealed through the air, as Janis Ian's dulcet voice sang of the misery that came with being 'Seventeen'.

"Oh...wait...sorry..." Star pressed stop and filtered through the tape box beside her, "wrong one..." She paused and looked up at the others on the couch behind her, "but we could listen to it a bit if-"

"No." Dwayne shook his head, leaning forward and snatching the tape from her hand to yank the film out of it and shred it to pieces.

Star gaped in shock, looking back inside the shoe box and hastily hiding her copy of Joni Mitchell's greatest hits, "oh...this one should be good..." She shoved another tape into the stereo and started the music. A much faster beat filtered through the lobby, bouncing off of the walls. Michael wanted to throw something at _Star_ now, too...

"C'mon, Michael, push it _real_ good," David snorted, crossing his ankles and settling back on the couch.

"This is _bullshit_. You're all _assholes,_ " Michael mumbled as he angrily stripped off his jacket and shook it in front of him, then moved it to his left and gave it another couple of shakes, then to his right. Rinse and repeat.

"...The fuck are you doing?" Dwayne raised an eyebrow, scratching the back of his head.

"I'm stripteasing," Michael snapped back, dropping his jacket to the ground and lifting up a leg to start trying to yank off one of his shoes. He hopped in place, unsuccessful in his endeavor.

"You weren't kidding man. You _can't_ do this," Marko shook his head, almost disgusted. "This is pathetic."

Paul leaned over to press stop on the tape, laughing, "I'll show you how to do it, Mikey. Pop a squat and watch the master..."

"I don't want to watch any of your shit, Paul," Michael replied, irritated. He'd been doing his best. Wasn't his fault this whole thing was stupid. There was nothing sexy about taking clothes off. The only sexy thing was done when the clothes were already long gone.

"Too bad, you're watching it anyway," Paul cooed, standing up and crossing to where Michael stood, jerking his finger behind him so the 'stage' could be his. Michael rolled his eyes and took Paul's place in front of the couch, not at all happy that it just so happened to be right in front of David.

"Okay, hold on," Star flipped through her shoe box of tapes, smiling when she found what she was looking for. "Got it," she said quietly as she switched out Michael's tape for another.

"'Squeeze Box?'" Paul grinned, spinning about so that his back was turned to them, "yeah...I can work with that..." And he did. Bobbing and weaving. Twisting and turning. Hopping about the lobby like a madman while he swung his jacket about.

Marko leaned over to Dwayne, "such a fucking ham." Dwayne rolled his eyes and nodded. At this point, Paul was much closer to the group, working slowly at his belt. Michael grimaced, covering his face and shaking his head.

"You need help," he grumbled.

Paul knelt down and grabbed Star's hand, forcing it over his buckle. She wanted to pull back and kick him in the shin, but reluctantly yanked until she'd managed to pull his belt away and toss it to the side. By the time he'd managed to get to work on his shirt, the song ended.

"Okay, next song I want you to play-" Paul began, only for David to raise a hand and wave him off.

"No. You're done. You took too long."

Paul's face fell in disappointment, "I didn't even get to the good part!"

"What good part?" Marko held up his fingers, pinching his thumb and index finger and holding them up to his face as if he were examining a very tiny hot dog.

"Why don't you get your ass up there and do it, then, Marko, if yours is so much better?!" Paul kicked the shorter vampire, who jumped up from the couch with a snicker and hopped towards the empty 'dance area'.

"I'll show you how the master does it, ladies," he announced, rolling his shoulders and moving his neck from side to side. "Okay, gimme something saucy!" He snapped his fingers at Star, who narrowed her eyes slightly, digging through the tape box.

"This one's perfect for you," she remarked dryly as she flipped the tape deck closed. Marko frowned suspiciously, right as 'She Bop' worked it's evil Cyndi magic on them.

"Fuck! No!" Marko protested, stomping his foot.

"I think it suits you perfectly, Marko," David drawled. "So...get to shaking it, midget."

"This is...you can't...there's not..."

"You're running out of time, Marko," Dwayne shouted.

The shorter vampire angrily stomped about the room, tearing off his jacket and attempting to gyrate to the beat of the song while he lassoed the article about his head, sending it sailing right for Paul's head while he bobbed and hovered into the air as he tried to wriggle out of his jeans. But he'd neglected to remove his shoes first, and spent the rest of the song grumbling and fighting with his denim prison until he finally sank to the ground with a huff, jeans still around his ankles. "Doesn't matter. Still got further than you..." he pouted, laying down so he could get to work pulling them back up over his knees and hips.

"You suck," Dwayne remarked, then turned towards Paul, "you suck." Finally, he directed his attention to Michael, "and you _really_ suck. You're all shit at this." He didn't even need to wait for them to tell him to give it a shot. Dwayne knew he could strip. It wasn't that difficult. How three of them in a row managed to fuck it up so bad, he couldn't even begin to contemplate.

Paul didn't much like the gleeful smile that spread across Star's face when she picked Dwayne's tape.

"Don't look at him like that," Paul warned her, leaning over with a growl.

"I was thinking about his music," Star lied. She'd look at whoever she wanted. He could go fuck himself if he honestly thought she wouldn't, whether she was stuck with him or not. She busily fast-fowarded through the tape until she got to the song in question and smiled up at Dwayne as she pressed play, the seductive melody of Heart's 'Magic Man' setting his scene for him.

There was no hitch. Dwayne didn't shake his jacket like a bullfighter, nor did he spend two minutes running around to 'set the mood', nor did he get caught up in his own pants as if they were some sort of evil death trap set by Daedalus in his famous maze. He danced, he stripped, he gyrated, and ultimately he managed to wring every last second out of the song flawlessly.

Paul and Marko exchanged angry looks, "his song was twice as long as ours. This doesn't count," Paul insisted.

"I just work with what I've got," Dwayne shrugged, crossing back to his spot on the couch as he finished pulling his shirt back on with a half-smirk.

"Well, looks like it's time to go to bed. That was fun, really, but-" Michael began, only to feel David shift behind him and climb off of the couch.

"My turn," David smirked, striding towards the middle of the room. Star nibbled at her bottom lip, looking back at the box with a frown. She was running out of ideas. Maybe...maybe this one would work...

" _ **NO**_ ," David growled, slamming his hands over his ears.

"You don't like Abba?" Star asked, shocked.

" _I'm not a fucking dancing queen!_ Dwayne, take the stereo. Star, get on the couch and keep your mouth shut."

Star shrugged, climbing to her feet and taking David's seat at the couch behind Michael. She drew her knees up to her chest and sighed. Everyone was a critic.

"Yeah...I can work with this..." David scratched his chin, grinning and tapping his foot to the beat of 'Another One Bites the Dust'. "Now, the key to a good striptease is all about the moves. You gotta make your audience want wrapping as much as they want the package," he began, slowly peeling away his duster.

"Less talky, more strippy!" Marko shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

When David managed to work his way to the couch, Michael snorted, "you're such an asshole." They'd all needed something ridiculous like this, tonight, though. At least nobody was going to bed mad, if you didn't count Marko's silent fuming over his song and subsequent failure.

David put a hand on the back of Michael's head and stepped close to him, crotch eye-level with the brunette's, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU-" Michael protested when David shifted forward and gave a few twitches of his hip before spinning about and stripping off his shirt.

"Awwwww, how shweeeeeet," Paul cooed, leaning over to ruffle Michael's hair.

"Shut the fuck up, Paul," Michael growled, blushing furiously as he batted the older vampire's hand away.

When the song finally came to a close, David was very smugly stepping back into his pants, giving Michael a good, long look as he pulled each article of clothing back on. Strip-dressing could be just as fun, he mused. This was almost worth all the shit those fishy fucks had done tonight. The boy could cuss and protest as much as he wanted, but they both knew he liked the show. Loved it, even, if the way he was angrily crossing his legs was anything to judge by.


	9. Chapter 9: Ed Has Weird Ideas

Author's notes: So the end is probably coming up pretty soon. I'm almost sad to let it. Oh well. Entrances and exits, life and Shakespeare. You know the phrase. Just replace 'men and women' with 'fan fictions'.

* * *

Edgar was the first to regain his senses, mute witness to the terrifying scene unfolding in front of them. He couldn't believe his eyes! There truly was no low a bloodsucker wouldn't sink to, no depravity they wouldn't indulge. Whatever remained of Sam's brother had clearly been twisted, corrupted, and rendered completely unrecognizable. Edgar wondered whether he'd even be able to get through to Sam that it would be far kinder to stake Michael to save him from this sickening damnation. And the way the ringleader singled him out for his awful display of...what could only be described as sexual stoking...brought Edgar to a very... _very_ disconcerting conclusion. Not only was Michael Emerson a soulless monster now...but he was also... _a vampire bride!_ No _wonder_ they only had one girl in their group. This was even more terrible than he could ever have imagined.

As for Alan..he was pretty grossed out, but not nearly as delusional as Ed. Everybody knew vampire brides wore flowy white dresses, _not_ leather jackets. And clearly blondie's attentions weren't entirely welcome...this whole setup was just...weird. Maybe they should've just tried werewolf hunting instead. At least _they_ didn't exist.

"Alan," Edgar whispered with quivering lips as he leaned over to his brother, fearful that at any moment it would be noticed that they weren't gagged and bound, that much more able to make a break for it...the second Edgar's legs started listening to him again.

"Ed?" Alan whispered back, trying to huddle back against the wall in an effort to shrink into himself, a human turtle, safe from the monsters beyond the sanctuary of his shirt.

"We need to figure out a way to get out of here... _now_...before they realize we're still free..." Edgar hissed, digging a hand into his brother's shoulder and nodding towards the exit. They'd have a little bit of trouble getting around the vampires at the couch having their orgy warm-up, but maybe they'd be too distracted notice. It was worth a shot. God only knew the alternative if they stayed there much longer. Clearly their intentions weren't good ones.

"How the hell are we gonna-" Alan urgently demanded before Edgar slammed a hand over his mouth and jerked his head in warning.

"Alan. Look at what they're doing. They're just getting primed right now...any second they're gonna be on us, and now I'm not so sure we're just snacks."

Alan pushed Edgar's hand away from his mouth with a suspicious glance back at the group. By now they were dressed and fighting over the shoe box of tapes, while the hippie chick frantically snatched one or two out of the little one's hands when he cackled and shoved one in his mouth. "I'm not following you," he shook his head, though his heart rate began to speed up. Edgar had an idea. And it was probably a bad one.

"Alan. Look at us. We're young. Fit. Seasoned hunters. Prime cuts! Before they drain us dry... _they're going to rape the shit out of us!_ "

"Oh god..." Alan visibly paled.

* * *

"Well, kid, sun'll be coming up soon. You wanna make your first kill tonight before we head home?" Shane wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder. He was warming up to the little blonde, and showing the guys that little hiding spot the Lost Boys holed away in when they weren't on the boardwalk...well, that had definitely earned him a bit of respect in their eyes. Not enough for Dallas, Aaron, Greg, or Leonard to forego the idea of eating him if they got overly hungry and Shane wasn't around to catch them...but enough to at least give him a head start if he tried to run.

"That...that sounds really good, master..." Sam wanted to gag at the fact that he still couldn't wean himself off of that word, or that he kept shuffling between adoration and disgust for the bastard, but some things just couldn't be helped. "I kinda wanna see the sun one more time, y'know?"

Shane pulled his arm off of Sam as they trailed down the shore, splashing into the water together. "...Funny. Most of them start chomping at the bit the second they get their first chance at their first feedings...I find it hard to believe you'd rather get a tan than the best damn meal you'll ever have," he eyed Sam, crossing his arms and examining the boy's face for a good, long minute. Sam shifted on his feet nervously, hoping he hadn't just blown his chance at staying human. Because if Shane did figure it out, there was no way he'd let him get away without a shot of fishy blood and a random vagrant for a chaser.

"Alright, one more day. I'll give you that," Shane shrugged, smiling. "Probably better to wait until we're done with our fight tomorrow, anyway. Don't wanna have to worry about a newbie running around while my hands are full dealing with those dip-shits."

Dallas laughed, looking down at his stub of an arm, "maybe I can get an extra hand from one of them too, before we're done."

* * *

 _"Do we have to get rid of them? This shit is gold,"_ Paul tossed his hair back with a laugh as he dug around in his front jacket pocket for a joint. He and the others had of course been listening to the conversation in the corner of the room. It was really hard to miss when the Frog brothers got up to anything, as loud as their 'whispering' tended to be.

 _"Oh man, I've got an idea..."_ Marko cracked a small grin, turning back towards Michael and Star. This would be a lot funnier if he could get them in on the action, too, but they'd have to learn to 'talk' first.

David straightened his duster and glanced back towards the Frog brothers, who both simultaneously jumped when they realized his eyes were boring into them. He grinned and nodded back at Marko, " _what's the idea?_ "

"Hey, Mikey," the smaller vampire cleared his throat, drawing Michael's attention.

"What?" He asked, suspiciously.

"I think Paul left the Froggie food by the bed in a bag. Why don't you go feed them, huh? Have a chit-chat about your little bro while you're at it. Betcha they can tell you all about how they let those fishies drag him off to be their little sea monkey bitch."

Michael stood up, dusting off his jacket and crossing towards the Frog brothers. He'd pretty much said everything to them he'd intended to the first night they were drug back to the hotel, but there was a whole well of bitter resentment he could draw on right now to mess with them. Plus, it was an excuse to get away from David, which was never a bad thing.

"Hey," Michael whispered, ruffling Edgar's hair, suppressing a smirk when the gruffer Frog brother's eyes widened in sheer terror. "You hungry?"

"F-f...f...for food?!" Edgar yelped, clamping his mouth shut immediately, just in case they had something else in mind. Something of the crimson variety.

Michael just rolled his eyes, standing up and crossing around to the side of the bed where Paul had left a goody bag, including several jars of baby food. He quirked an eyebrow, filtering through them and glancing back at the Frog brothers, "peas or carrots? Got some bananas in here if you're good..."

 _Bananas?!_ Edgar crossed himself, praying to any god who would listen that 'bananas' wasn't some horrible euphemism...

"Carrots," Alan piped up, getting a shocked glare from his brother in turn.

"What? I'm starving!" Alan shrugged, his stomach growling in agreement with him. They could worry about escape later. It was too late to run right now, anyway. Besides, as...well...as insane as these bloodsuckers were...surely they'd have already done something by now if they intended to. Ed was just...well...Ed was just being Ed.

As Michael crossed back towards the Frog brothers and tossed a couple of jars of baby food at them, Marko immediately drew up behind him and tugged at the side of his jacket, while Paul came up around on the other side to run a hand through his hair.

"Get them nice and warmed up for us, huh, sweetheart?" Marko cooed.

"The fuck is wrong with you?!" Michael shoved them both away, punching Paul in the shoulder in the process, because Marko had already jumped back several feet out of his firing range.

"Aw, Michael, don't be like that! I know you don't like sharing, but I promise we'll still get our turns!" David added to the taunts and laughter of Marko and Paul as Michael flipped them all their own personalized birds before flying from the room to turn in early. Star watched him leave, and then looked back around at the others, somewhat disgusted. Even as a joke...the idea of them doing anything with the Frog brothers...ugh...that smell alone was enough to turn her stomach.

Alan sputtered, squeezing onto his selected jar of baby food until his knuckles turned white. His appetite had suddenly vanished. He leaned back into his brother with a hopeless whimper. Oh god...Ed was right... _he was right the whole time!_

* * *

"Are you sure this is what you wanna do, Lucy?" Grandpa Emerson eyed his daughter as she finished taping up another box of dishes. She'd hardly been able to concentrate at work that day. Or the day before. Hardly been able to do anything but worry about what was going to happen to Sam, whether Michael and his...his 'friends' would really be able to do anything to save him from the mess he'd gotten in. Even though the night was almost over, she fully planned to call in to work that day. She just...she needed to get this done as soon as possible.

"There's nothing else I can do, dad," Lucy sighed, stacking the box in the corner of the kitchen and snatching up her half-empty mug from a counter to take a quick gulp of tepid coffee. She'd have to brew another batch.

"What about Michael?"

Lucy shook her head hopelessly, "I hate to say this, because he's my baby, and it kills me, but I _can't save him._ It's too late. I'm sorry, dad, but when Sam comes home... _if_ he comes home...I don't think we can stay in Santa Carla anymore. It just isn't safe. I've got a few friends in Luna Bay, and I think maybe they could help. Then, of course, there's Jillian. I'm sure she'd be happy to put us up until we can get on our feet. And Michael could always visit. It's not very far from Santa Carla, after all..."

"It's not gonna be easy," the old man sighed, setting the kettle on to boil and then shuffling over to the fridge to grab a bottle of root beer.

"I don't have any other options. _We_ don't have any." She set her mug down and crossed her arms, rubbing at her shoulders to work some warmth into her limbs, "I wish you would come with us."

He snorted, taking a long gulp of root beer and walking out of the kitchen, Nanook on his heels. Lucy watched them both leave together with a sad smile, finishing off the dregs of her coffee. Maybe she'd be able to convince Sam to let the husky stay with dad.

* * *

Star floated through the hotel, blistered paint brushing against her fingers as she trailed them along the walls, along with splintered wooden beams she tried not to touch, sailing through the maze of rooms and old halls towards their sleeping quarters. She'd left the rest of the boys to their own devices, tormenting and taunting the Frog brothers over some imagined sense that they were somehow highly prized sex objects, just because they'd been witness to a fairly poor strip tease session.

"Michael?" She called out, descending into the crevice they slept in, fashioned just above the shattered foundations of the hotel. There was no answer. She squinted through the darkness, eyes adjusting to take in a shifting shadow below, his feet latched firmly to a pole. "Michael, I know you're not asleep yet," she called out to him, lowering herself into the crevice.

"What do you want, Star?" He grumbled, and if she didn't know...she'd swear he was pouting.

"I just wanted to check on you," she shrugged, perching on the same pole he hung from. She was getting drowsy, so she knew it would only be a few minutes before the others showed up. More than enough time to at least talk. Not that her words would have too much weight, given their recent issues. Still, this wasn't really about seducing him anymore, or winning him over to her side.

"I'm fine," he replied quietly, and as her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, she could see him shifting his feet, clenching his clawed toes and scooting a little further away from where she perched.

"But..." she urged, swinging down to hang beside him. "But they're getting on your nerves?" Star continued, prodding and poking.

"They just keep fucking with me!" He growled, turning to face her and crossing his arms. "And I'm beginning to think this is just going to be the same god damned routine every night."

"Then do the same to them," she replied matter-of-factly. "You're giving them what they want. You're getting mad and pouting. That's not going to get you anywhere, Michael. You need to start giving them a taste of their own medicine," she shrugged.

"You're one to talk," he replied, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"All I'm saying is this: they won. They got us stuck with them. Better or worse. It's up to us whether or not we want to just keep being...miserable...or learn to live with it. I'm not saying it's me and you against the world again," she stretched her arms above her head now that they were swinging together side-by-side, "I'm just saying..."

He leaned close to her expectantly, tilting his head.

"I'm just saying me and you need to come up with a way to make this work..." She jerked away from him at the sound of cloth and leather fluttering in the open air, quickly taking flight and perching on a pole as far away from Michael as she could manage. At this point, Star didn't just have David to deal with, but Paul as well. If they were caught getting too close, they'd have a lot more to deal with than just a bit of vicious teasing.


	10. Chapter 10: Dramatic Speech Time

Author's notes: Typing Shane's stupid dialog in the latter portion of this chapter made my skin crawl. I really hate dumb characters and anxiety moments sometimes. But that's pretty much what I've read about the character in the comics and how he views David. So...there you go...it's 'canon'.

* * *

Once the Frogs were safely tied up, left to stew in their paranoia for the day, David was more than eager to get some sleep. Especially when he noticed two pack members in particular being absent at the same time. _Surely_ Star wouldn't be stupid enough to try and pull something again, and not after Paul finally took her in hand. If she had, there wouldn't be any more strikes. David would be more than happy to snap her neck.

" _Easy, Davey, she didn't pull anything. Trust me. We're all good now,_ " Paul sailed behind David through the hotel, more than a little confident in himself. He'd been strutting about the lobby like a peacock since they'd gotten back. So...pretty much back to his old self.

 _"Hey, Pauley, if you need any help..."_ Marko pinched Paul's cheek, dodging a swipe at his head with a sneaky grin as they mad their way through the corridors. " _Awwww, those hormones getting you down, Princess?_ " He taunted as they began their descent towards their sleeping nook.

Paul ignored him in favor of nestling beside Star, who didn't even bother fighting him off for personal space. Not after he'd finally gotten the upper hand with her. He did notice, however, a certain tension in her limbs, and a hectic whirl of thoughts in her mind. He was growing too tired to filter through them, but doubted they honestly went beyond her usual philosophical waxing. She'd really missed her calling, he thought, nuzzling his nose against the crook of her neck and pulling her even closer as he inhaled the fragrance of her flowery perfume and that lingering scent of death beneath it. She should have been an actress, not a vampire. But she sure smelled pretty damn good.

Dwayne and Marko, for their parts, had already fallen asleep. They didn't have to worry about fledglings or mates, so relaxing wasn't an exhaustive process for the pair. Neither of them envied the others. Well, Marko kinda did. Maybe that was why he kept poking fun at Michael and Paul every chance he got. But Dwayne would be perfectly content with his Sartre and Faulkner for a few more decades before he'd even begin to give a shit.

Michael jerked when he felt claws dragging along his neck, just barely scraping at tender skin before a cool tongue quickly followed to lap it up. He was faced away from David, arms crossed and grumpily trying to fall asleep despite the overly-aggressive way the blonde pulled him against his chest and growled into his ear. It wasn't easy to drum up a sense of indignation or anger, in the face of a quickly rising sun outside, and this _constant_ assault David seemed to be waging against him. He hated to think how easy it would be to just give in to all of this, take it in stride, accept it. If he didn't have his mom and Sam to think about, reminding him there still was that small bit of humanity remaining that remembered David was both male and far from being his first or last choice as a partner...Michael wasn't sure what he'd do.

"Will you stop that? I'm trying to sleep," he grumbled under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't bother shrugging David away, because he knew it would just give more fuel to the bastard's horny fire. Better to just let it burn out, even if it was getting on his nerves, and...one part of Michael's body had decided to ruthlessly betray him. And to think they used to be the best of friends.

"What were you two doing down here?" David hissed in Michael's ear, nipping at his neck.

"For fuck's sake, we were just talking," Michael snapped back. As if he'd even take a chance of going back on their stupid agreement and risk letting his brother get killed. David knew damn well he wouldn't.

"Keep it that way."

"Okay, _mom_."

David chuckled against Michael's ear, and god how he hated the sound of it, "I'm not your mommy, Michael," David whispered, reaching around to grab at the front of his jeans, only to find the brunette slapping his hand away. "I'm your daddy. _Call me daddy_."

"How about we meet in the middle and I just call you dickhead," Michael retorted, finally...thankfully...mercifully succumbing to sleep. If he hadn't, he wasn't too sure he would have been able to resist the urge to break into a full-on fight, no matter the consequences. But that was probably what David wanted. Star definitely made a good point, though she didn't seem to be bearing nearly as much of the taunting as he did. He could only assume it was because she didn't tend to outwardly react, and therefore wasn't as fun to mess with. If every night was like this, he'd just go on being pissed off and miserable. They had to figure out a way to make this work. The question was... _how_? And why did he get the feeling they were all (including Star) hiding something from him?

* * *

"Hey," Sam heard a familiar voice calling out to him, and something nudging at his shoulder. He shifted, turning over onto his side and crying to cover his face with his arm. The gravel of his small cave-side bed dug into his side, but he stubbornly refused to get up. Didn't want to. Didn't want to face a night he wasn't even sure he'd make it through. Didn't want to have to drink Shane's blood, because he just _knew_ he wouldn't be able to get away with an excuse two nights in a row. And would Mike and the others even bother showing up? If they did, would they even save him?

"C'mon, kid, get up," Shane knelt down and poked him in the shoulder. Sam let out a long breath and slowly sat up, brushing small rocks off of his fore-arms, pausing to pick at a few that had dug a bit into his skin and refused to fall off on their own.

"Contest should be starting soon, kids. Gotta get our boards good and waxed. You know how to wax a board, don't you?" He ruffled Sam's hair, claws skimming his scalp just roughly enough for him to know there wasn't even a mild sense of friendliness to the gesture. When they'd gotten back the night before, he'd been pretty pissed off Tommy wasn't there to meet them. Apparently he'd skipped town...and Sam couldn't blame him, either.

"I...I can learn, master. I'd do anything to please you," Sam nodded quickly, getting way too used to the way his mouth spoke without his brain's permission these days. If he was lucky, this would be the last night he had to cope with it, though. Hopefully. He really wanted to gag at how fucking gay he sounded, too. The butt monkey side of his brain wasn't too smart about how he phrased things. Then again, that part of him wasn't too smart in general. Not that he felt like the normal part of him was, either, given his current situation.

* * *

Paul teased at his hair with a comb, eyeing Marko's reactions as he did so, just to be sure he got his look right. That was pretty much the only thing any of them had to go on, since mirrors weren't really an option unless they made nice with a local and got an invite or two. So far, no success yet. And given how Michael's grandpa reacted when Marko swung by for a chat with Lucy, he probably wouldn't give them one either.

"David," Dwayne nodded to the pack leader as he pocketed a fresh pack of cigarettes and yanked on his boots as he adjusted his footing. He glanced back at Dwayne with a raised eyebrow and nodded his head back as he checked to make sure his hair was thoroughly set. They didn't have to groom too often, but tonight was special. Everyone wanted to look their best. As much product as they used between them, the Lost Boys were a terribly vain lot.

 _"You need to ease up. The stripping was funny, but you're not going to have much luck with Michael if you keep fucking with him like that,"_ Dwayne advised silently, glancing over towards Michael who was sitting beside Star whispering with her. David narrowed his eyes at the sight, catching Michael's attention just as the brunette pulled away from her and pointedly turned away from his maker and the girl at his side.

 _"I don't see what's wrong with a little screwing around. He **did** try to kill me, remember?" _ David snorted, crossing towards the couch and sitting down on the arm of it with his arms crossed. Star quickly scrambled up and crossed the lobby to see to Thorne on pretext.

 _"That's a stupid excuse, David. You already got that revenge at the bar, and then some. He's not going to want you to bang him if you keep treating him like shit. I guess he'll have to put up with it, but he won't be chomping at the bit for it. Eventually he might even work up the strength to ignore you."_

 _"And what do you know about it?"_

 _"...Um, fuck, man...I was married once, wasn't I?"_

 _"Sixty years ago. You don't even remember what she looked like...and you ate her."_

 _"...Okay, fine. Don't listen to me. I mean, I wasn't trying to eat her, but I guess that doesn't matter...does it? Just remember how well ignoring my advice worked out last time...oh...wait...it blew up in your face, didn't it?"_

David gave him a warning glare, and the taller vampire merely shrugged in acquiescence. He'd said his peace. David could do whatever he wanted with it. Ultimately, he was still the one in charge. But if he didn't get on common grounds with Michael, they were going to have a hell of a go at things. Kinky sex was one thing. Dwayne could whole-heartedly get behind that, as long as it didn't border on Paul's level, of course. This stuff verged on torture. Granted, a vampire could take and give a lot more than a person, with their severely limited abilities to empathize or pretty much give a shit about anyone but themselves. But who'd honestly want to be with an asshole for the rest of eternity? He knew David wasn't a complete dick, but he was sure acting like one. Maybe it had something to do with that head vampire bullshit working on his body. Extra psycho testosterone, or something along those lines. Or maybe he'd just waited too long to mate. Food for thought, Dwayne supposed, as he inspected his pants seams to make sure they were straight.

* * *

Sam took a deep breath, gently pushing open the door to the small church he'd been dropped off at. After the contest, Shane would be back to pick him up. Expected him to be stocked on wafers and holy water to use on the Lost Boys. Unfortunately for Sam, he doubted he'd be able to summon the will to use them on Shane instead of his own brother, but the scary thing...the scary thing was that he could actually feel what his crazy side wanted to do. It wanted to take out Mike first, cut out anyone in his life who wanted to take him away _from_ the master.

"Are you looking for something, my son?" A grizzled old priest lumbered towards Sam, looking more like a weathered war veteran than a man of god. Sam clapped a hand over his mouth quickly to stop his crazy half from making him bare his teeth at the holy father like a threatened dog.

 _"Don't let him get near the master! You can't trust him! Don't tell him a thing!"_ Crazy whispered frantically in his mind, clawing at the inside of Sam's skull and making him flinch with the growing headache as it fought for control.

"I...I..." Sam gulped, wringing his hands together, "I just wanted to get some holy water, father. For my...for my...mas...mas...masonic uncle. He's a freemason. And religious...and...and he wants some holy water," he shrugged at his pathetic lie. But somehow he doubted using the word 'master' wouldn't get him an even weirder look than the one the priest was giving him right then.

"Well, my son, there is a large basin near the door," the old man clasped his hands together and nodded, before leaning forward, "and you can take as much as you like for your masonic uncle." He smiled secretively, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small rosary to press into Sam's hands, "the lord's house will always be open to you and your uncle. You need only ask."

"...I...I do?" Sam's lower lip quivered, and he desperately tried to fight to get the right words out. This man probably knew about the stuff in Santa Carla. Probably knew about the vampires and crazy shit. Could he think the word 'shit' in a church?

"I have some spare time if you'd like to talk," the old man suggested, nodding back towards the confessionals.

Sam's eyes widened, and the crazy inside him howled, begged for him to leave the building.

"What's your name, my son?"

"...Sam Emerson."

"Emerson?" The priest paused, tilting his head down in silent thought. "Good name," he mused as he put an arm around Sam's shoulders and guided him towards the confessional.

* * *

The Frog brothers sat in shock on the beach, looking about at the Lost Boys (and Star) with more than a little awe. Even they, who'd pretty much spent every waking moment thinking about vampire hunting, learning, living, breathing, eating, sleeping with Dracula quotations in their minds and a thousand back-up plans to deal with legions of the undead...even they couldn't have been this clever. Granted, Alan especially was beginning to realize maybe they'd never been very clever as a team in the first place. Frankly, he hated to admit it...but making it through their first fight with these guys really was sheer dumb luck on their side and sloppiness on the Lost Boys' parts.

Edgar coughed when Dwayne tore the gag from his mouth with a derisive sneer, "you remember what we told you?" He inquired, practically hissed at the boy.

"Sc...scream at your signal, do what you tell us, and we might not be dog chow tonight?" Edgar whimpered, pressing himself up against Alan's back and scrabbling his feet in front of him in the sand to try and gain some kind of space between himself and the very real vampire in front of him.

"You think they'll mind us missing the show?" Paul called out to David, who'd just finished setting up their sand trap and was busily dusting off his gloves.

"I'm sure they'll understand. Besides, Marko's there. He'll give us plenty of notes," David snorted.

"Oh joy," Michael remarked sarcastically as he flopped down to the ground and leaned back on his elbows. They had a good extra half hour to burn while they waited to the game to get started, and that was more than enough time for him to sort through his thoughts. He glanced out towards the rolling waves and thought about the great irony that the only thing he'd thought he'd like about Santa Carla when he first moved there was the fact that he'd be able to swim as much as he liked, get a better tan, maybe even learn how to surf. He supposed living forever and flying was a decent trade-off, though. Even if it meant living with a bunch of assholes.

Star strode by Paul, kneeling down to scoop up a sand dollar and examine it in her palm. It was so tiny, she could snap it with her thumb against her palm if she wanted to. She really wanted to tell Michael about the telepathy stuff the others could do, but she just knew David would flip his shit. And she honestly doubted Paul could do much (or would) to keep her safe if he did. Even if there was something more to mating than just hormones on constant overdrive, Star couldn't picture Paul as the protective type. The 'throw you under the bus' type, but not protective.

She didn't notice him kneeling beside her and dragging a stick through the sand until he nudged her shoulder with his, smirking when Star glanced at him and pocketed her sand dollar.

"I'm flattered, really," Paul snorted. "You've got a really high opinion of me, don't you?"

"I'm right, aren't I?" She asked quietly, smoothing her hair back over her shoulder.

He shrugged, "we're stuck together. I'm not crazy about Davey knocking you off. So chill it on the self-pity train, wouldja?" He paused. "And I don't think telling Mikey would be a good idea right now," Paul tapped at his forehead. "Better to pretend you don't know anything about it when Davey spills, huh?"

"And if he finds out I'm lying to him again, he'll hate me for the rest of his life," Star replied moodily.

"Ehhhh..." Paul blew a raspberry, reaching down to grab her hands and drag her reluctantly to her feet. "I smell fish. We'll catch up later, alright?" Paul ruffled her hair and skipped away, and damn it...he'd just ruined her sad mood. She was really getting into it, too.

* * *

Shane laughed, setting his trophy aside and taking one final bow to the night-time crowd. Not as big as the ones he used to see, despite the fact that he'd made his retirement announcement at this performance, but he wasn't really too surprised. Half of his fans had become his lunch in the past year or so, after all. Not on purpose, of course...they were just easier to catch. The minute they realized they weren't in for a good time with a practical celebrity on the beach scene, it was usually too late. And hey, the best ones he'd let Dallas have his fun with, too. That was, after all, why there'd been so many chicks on the bottom story at the old place. Too bad they were just a little too dumb to work out for anything but disposing of leftovers.

Leonard leaned up behind his leader and master, water dripping from his hair as he nodded his head towards a familiar face in the crowd. The little one. Marcos, or something like that. "He's the only one I'm seeing here, boss. I think the others blew the scene. Probably here to tell us Santa Carla is all ours," he grinned, whispering against Shane's ear before they shuffled towards the edge of the makeshift stage. It would be gone by tomorrow, broken down and stored away until another surfing contest was held next summer. Probably during the day. They'd made an exception for Shane tonight. A lot of his merchandise was still circulating through the local shops, after all.

"Well, why don't we give him a proper good-bye, huh?" Shane grinned, pushing through the crowd as the rest of his group followed, Dallas carrying the trophy in his one good arm and grinning like the cat that got the canary.

"What about the newbie?" Aaron called out behind them, falling to the back of the group.

"Go fetch him. Then meet us back here," Shane replied as he drew closer to Marko, who didn't look in the least intimidated by the group. Funny enough, he looked like he was on the verge of laughter...probably having some kind of mental breakdown. Wouldn't be at all surprised if he'd pissed himself.

When Marko's smile disappeared from his face, Shane thought it was for entirely different reasons.

* * *

"You sure took your time!" David called out, slowly clapping his hands as a legion of dripping shadows descended over a sandy hill. At the head, Marko skipped along happily. One could hardly tell he was already whipped up for a killing frenzy, no thanks to an unflattering thought or two flying through the individual minds of the fishy fucks. They really were a joke.

"Almost lost our way," Marko shouted back, nodding behind him towards the group, "had to pick up a straggler!" He added, and there was no mistaking the thin teenager trailing behind them. It was Sam. And he looked like shit. Michael's eyes fell on his brother, and he bit back a snarl. Paul had mentioned something about seeing him on the boardwalk the night before, but he hadn't said anything about Sam being sick. There was no doubt he had a pretty nasty cold, the way he shivered and kept rubbing at his already raw nose. They should have dealt with these assholes sooner.

Shane, the leader of the overly-confident idiots drew towards David with a thin-lipped smile and a nod, "nice to finally see the man again in the flesh," he remarked flatly. And for all he tried, David couldn't honestly tell if the guy was joking or not. Even his thoughts were vanilla.

"Again?" David crossed his arms and leaned back on the heel of his right foot, wearing his own casual smile...though his held a bit more of a dangerous promise to it. Granted, that wasn't saying much in comparison. "I don't remember the face, sorry."

"I'm not surprised. You were a little too busy gnawing on my jugular, _brother_..."

David's eyes slid towards Marko, who shrugged helplessly, face turning redder and redder by the second as he held in his laughter. It was on the verge of choking him now, and Paul...even Dwayne seemed to be having a similar issue, gleaning through the surfer's ridiculous thoughts.

The question was...should David let him finish, or should he just claw his throat out right now, be done with it? Ah, hell with it, he needed a good laugh.

"Mind if I smoke?" David asked, digging into his coat pocket and fishing for his cigarettes.

"By all means, everyone's entitled to a last wish," Shane replied...and the cigarette nearly fell out of David's hands in his utter shock at the statement. What the...what the fuck was this guy drinking? Crack whores on kerosene and LSD?!

"I guess you're wondering why I called you brother," Shane went on, oblivious to David's dancing eyes as he managed to shove his cigarette into his mouth. Maintaining a cool exterior was becoming more and more difficult by the second. Marko's snickers were finally breaking into the air and bouncing off of one of the other surfers, who seemed to be under the impression he was about to piss himself in delirious terror.

" _Is this guy serious? Am I going crazy? He's serious? Is he serious?!_ " Paul rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to cover his shit-eating grin.

"... _Yeah. He's serious._ " Dwayne shook his head, bewildered.

"Before we kill you, I guess you're entitled to a little story," Shane went on, and at this point they were only half-listening.

"I feel like I'm in a Bond movie. Next thing you know, he'll start talking shit about death rays and golden bikinis," Michael mumbled under his breath and rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to sit through this bullshit.

Sam looked over at his brother, shaking his head quickly in an effort to signal him to be quiet. Shane didn't need any more encouragement...Greg looked over at Sam questioningly, and the boy just shook his head again and swiped at his hair, acting as if he'd gotten a bug in it. Apparently he was convincing enough, because soon Greg was focused on Shane once more. Excited to see the scene unfold of his masterful leader laying down the law.

"Two years ago, I was partying on the beach with my friends. You might remember them...used to hassle them all the time on the boardwalk, didn't you?" Shane asked, and David was already a quarter of the way through his cigarette before he realized the idiot was waiting for a response.

"Yeah. I think I remember something like that," David shrugged. He didn't. But the time frame sounded familiar.

" _Dude, come on! This was the guy you were gonna feed Mikey before he ran off back to mommy!_ " Paul's thought broke into David's mind, and recognition finally dawned. Oh...right. That...guy. Yeah, his blood tasted like shit. Practically no flavor whatsoever...just like his personality. And apparently his storytelling.

"At first, I hated what you'd done to me. But then I realized...it was meant to happen. Me and mine...we were the next step up in the food chain. The next great evolution of our species. It was always meant to happen. You just happened to be the catalyst, _brother,_ "

David flinched when he used that fucking word again. His patience had almost completely evaporated.

Shane went on and on, told them about his first shark dinner, his first human feeding, the way he'd built up his nest in just under two years and waited for them to return so he could prove he was a greater monster than any of them could ever be. Then he threw in a few quotes from cliched stage-plays, and David was pretty sure something from Star Wars too. By the time he was done talking, David was almost dead on his feet, flicking his cigarette aside with a bored sigh.

"You done?" He asked, scratching at his cheek.

"...Excuse me?" Shane drew back, raising his eyebrows, apparently offended.

"You two would make a great couple, Davey. Shoulda mated him instead!" Marko called out.

"Shut up, Marko!" Michael threw a rock at him. The shorter vampire was getting harder to hit as he laughed and skipped away.

"Is that jealousy I'm detecting?" David turned back to the brunette, who just rolled his eyes and looked back at the head of the fishy fucks, irritated that this was taking so damn long to get started.

Shane seemed to have recovered quickly, because he'd already removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his pocket, smiling with a mouth full of sharpened fangs, "well, now that you've heard my story...I guess it's time to end yours, huh?"

"I guess so," David rolled his eyes, "c'mon boys, lets get started!"


	11. Chapter 11: What A World

Author's notes: I literally drafted like 3 different pages of notes and blocking for how this fight could have turned out. And only half of them managed to make it to the screen, because apparently Dwayne didn't like the plans I had for him and a Molotov cocktail. The old-fashioned shirtless bastard.

* * *

As if the world about them could sense what was happening, the beach seemed to take a great sigh...kicking up sand and bits of dead grass in great bursts of air. There was no way this small stretch of paradise wouldn't be tainted for years, no matter the outcome of the fight. Not that there could be any real doubt of who would win, from a sane person's perspective.

Aaron judiciously decided to make the first move, separating himself from his group and strolling around the edge of their little surrounding, eyes focused intently on Dwayne. With his choice made, the others soon picked their own targets. Marko and Paul exchanged a gleeful look, advancing towards Leonard together. Meanwhile, Michael crept towards Sam to try and get his brother out of harm's way _before_ he went into a frenzy, while Star kept her eyes locked on Dallas creeping low to the ground in Paul's direction, and David and Shane decided to continue their casual chat in favor of waiting for each other's numbers to dwindle. Shane didn't see the boys as a challenge. David didn't see the fish as a threat. And he wanted to see the dumbass's dreams of conquest crumble before he took him out. It wouldn't be any fun if he made this too fast, after all.

* * *

Dwayne was flattered to be singled out, really. Normally he was the last member of their pack anyone tried messing with. Oh, sure, they were all intimidating...but his perpetual shirtlessness and silent demeanor tended to add a little extra to the effect when good old-fashioned common sense failed their average meal. Honestly, it was a good and bad thing to be digging out some of the last Surf Nazis from the city, bloodsucker or not...the way they paraded around the boardwalk when they were _human_ was enough to make them glowing targets. Becoming shitty vampires didn't help their case at all.

"Sorry about this," Aaron spoke up, stretching his arms above his head as he readied himself for the fight.

"No, really, _I'm_ sorry," Dwayne replied politely. He was mainly debating with himself how exactly he wanted to go about this. Make it dizzyingly quick, or agonizingly slow? Both options had their plus sides.

"You understand how it is, though. I mean, people with your shitty taste in music..." Aaron just shook his head, "it really is better to just put you out of your misery."

Dwayne quirked an eyebrow, "music?"

"Yeah. Jim Morrison? That guy was a fucking hack," Aaron snorted, lashing out towards Dwayne for his first attack, claws drawn and ready to separate flesh from bone.

Dwayne snorted and swiftly backed away, spinning about to grab Aaron's arm and pull him forward, nearly making him stumble to the ground, "better not let David hear you say that. He's not as nice as I am," without missing a beat, Dwayne swept one of Aaron's legs out from beneath him and punched him in the back of the head, sending him flailing into the sand. He recovered from his daze and rolled onto his back just in time to see Marko and Paul flying high above them in the skyline, both spinning about in a mad circle while Marko held onto Leonard's hands and Paul held onto his feet, chanting a nursery rhyme together.

Aaron stumbled to his feet, visibly paling and looking at his opponent with an entirely new sense that maybe...just maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as they'd thought.

"I'll give you three shots before I end this. Make them good ones," Dwayne told him calmly, folding his hands behind his back to illustrate his point.

* * *

Star, meanwhile, was still focused on Dallas. He'd been shocked and frozen in his place ever since Marko and Paul had taken to the air with a flailing and screaming Leonard. She really wished she could read minds like the others, she thought, calmly walking up behind him and tapping the one-armed man on the shoulder to get his attention. He spun about to face her, and his look of terror melted into one of relief. She realized she didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. She wasn't very intimidating.

"Can you..." she smiled at him, lowering her head slightly and pointing to the sky, "...can you do that?" Star asked, affecting a note of awe and amazement at the feat as if she hadn't practically learned to fly backwards in her sleep at this point.

Dallas sputtered, "y-...you can't?!"

"...No." She sighed, "I'm just a weak, harmless, defenseless, innocent, emotional, delicate..." she dug out as many pathetic descriptors as she could pack into one sentence, just waiting for him to take the bait. And at the very moment a body sailed to the ground behind her, screaming bloody murder, Dallas's one good hand landed on her shoulder as he gave her the most vicious smile he could muster.

Leonard twitched on the ground, trying to regain his breath as broken ribs and bones tried to mend themselves, when Paul and Marko were on him again, carrying him right back into the sky.

" **Make a wish!** " Marko cackled.

* * *

David had drawn an arm around Shane's shoulders, grinning madly with a cigarette tucked into his mouth while he watched the pathetic excuse for a 'pack' or 'nest' or 'whatever' leader quickly lose any confidence he'd managed to gain while his miniscule army seemed to be falling to pieces around him. Especially Dallas, who began screaming bloody murder when Star dug a delicate foot into his chest and ripped his remaining good arm off. She stumbled back to the ground in absolute shock, not having expected it to be nearly so easy.

"You wanna know something?" David spoke out of the corner of his mouth, placing his free hand to his lips to draw the cigarette away. Shane looked at him, shocked, then back towards the sky to watch Leonard plummet towards them yet again, this time not screaming nearly so much. The broken ribs puncturing his lungs were hindering the effect somewhat.

"Oh, don't worry, you don't have to talk right now if you don't want to. I completely understand," David informed him, as if Shane was worried right now how rude he was coming off by not answering the question.

"The boys don't really get to have fun with idiots like you too often. I mean, sure, there's the odd tourist or two who thinks he's tough shit...but even they don't have the nerve to **touch what doesn't _fucking_ belong to them,** " David drew away from Shane, poking him in the chest with a clawed finger to illustrate every last word, his final sentence coming out in a hiss.

Shane narrowed his eyes, shoving David's hand away. So what if his boys apparently couldn't fight for shit? He was _Shane Powers_. He'd looked death in the face the last time and kicked it in the balls. He could do the same thing again, only this time in a much more literal sense, "Santa Carla...is mine," he ground out, distancing himself a little from David and crouching low to the ground. He was ready to fight. He could easily take David on. He had to.

"No. It isn't," David scoffed, hardly able to even comprehend the fact that this fucker still hadn't given up the idea that he even had a shot at making it through the night, much less killing all of them. The numbers were clearly against him. "Neither is our hotel. I should make you suffer just for that. But I'm going to let Michael decide what to do with you," he nodded towards the brunette, who'd managed to get a hold of Sam by now, but was being forced to pin the hissing and spitting teenager's arms to his sides while he tried to calm him down. The fishy side had taken control again, and it was just as hilariously weak as his normal half.

"Oh?" Shane quirked an eyebrow, glancing in the direction David was looking. From his perspective, it was clear to him Michael was incapable of killing. Couldn't even take out a halfie.

"That's his little brother you tried to make your bitch, by the way," David drawled. "He's not too happy with you right now about that. If you're nice, though, maybe we'll make this quick for you." He paused. "I wish you'd turned a couple more blood bags, for me. I'm really disappointed I didn't get to dirty my hands tonight...wait, actually, no. I'm not. You smell like shit. And one of your fishy fuckers ruined my favorite shirt."

Shane growled, lunging towards David, only for the blonde to side-step him with a chuckle, "keep your pants on, things are just getting started." David snorted, taking another pull of his cigarette. He really...really didn't want to smell like fish tonight if he could avoid it. Now if only Michael would hurry the fuck up and knock his brother out so he could play nice with the rest of them. Just as he was about to call out, he caught sight of a fist sailing towards his face. David caught it in one swift movement, and pushed it down until he was glaring directly into Shane's eyes, bright gold piercing the night air viciously, as if it could cut through to the younger vampire's very core.

David squeezed Shane's fist even tighter, and the former surf nazi bit back a shriek as his hand was twisted around until David pried open his fingers, taking his cigarette out of his mouth with his free hand to stub out the burning end into Shane's skin. He released his hand and shoved him back down to the ground, "you're not worth my time," David snorted as he dug out another cigarette from his pocket and lit it anew.

Shrieks and hisses pierced the air. On one side of their clearing, Dwayne was crouched over Aaron's twitching body, calmly examining the spinal column he'd managed to rip out in one go...well...three our four goes. He had to break the bones and muscle around it first. On the other side, Dallas had gone into a frenzy of bloodlust with the loss of his final arm, and had tried to dive for the only fresh blood source at hand when Star flew into the air out of his reach, waving back at him with his own hand. Despite the fact that he'd managed to stumble into a sand pit dug around the Frog brothers, packed with sharpened wooden poles, Edgar and Alan were still screaming bloody murder. They couldn't stop.

* * *

Paul and Marko made their final descent, each taking turns to poke and prod at Leonard's corpse. It had taken about six drops, each one higher than the last...and he'd still tried to keep flailing on the last one. That was when Marko finally lost his patience and punched a whole through the bastard's chest, tossing his beating heart into the ocean. The only problem now, of course, was the fact that his arm was covered in blackish-red gunk now. Paul backed away as he attempted to rub it off on his shirt, stumbling until he managed to get a hold of Star and shove her in front of him.

"HEY!" She screeched indignantly when Marko rubbed the gunk all over her face and shirt. She yelled at him, throwing her legs into the air and kicking him in the crotch. Marko hacked and gasped, backing away and nearly falling to his knees.

"The fuck, man..." he wheezed, "you don't play fair!"

"I'd kiss ya, momma, but let's wait until you get another bath, huh?" Paul snickered into her ear as he released her arms and she spun about to try and deliver the same treatment to his own boys. He grinned and backed away, spinning about and dashing off down the beach, Star on his trail.

* * *

Edgar and Alan had finally managed to stop screaming. Between their obnoxious whines and Sam's wild flailing, Michael was quickly losing his patience. He could easily keep his brother from doing anything stupid right now; that wasn't really the problem. The problem was getting him to calm down long enough so he could take him back home. But it wasn't going to do them any good if Sam ended up acting insane there, too.

"Sammie, calm down!" Michael gave the smaller Emerson a good shake, and Sam tried to knock his head back into his brother's chest. The attack...was pathetically ineffective. It probably still would have been if Michael was human, honestly.

"No! Kill! Shred! Protect the master!" Sam panted, keeping his very normal, and very un-intimidating teeth bared.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Michael rolled his eyes, "Sammie, I really don't want to do this...but if I have to, I will. Your 'master' is gonna be dead in a few minutes, and I need you to fight this so I can keep you out of the way when we kill him."

" **NOOOOO! MASTERRRRR!** " Sam wailed, and the performance would have been oscar-worthy if it wasn't so demented and pathetic. Michael couldn't believe he apparently blew the only chance he'd gotten to wring one of those fish's necks, and the twerp wasn't even around right now. Even Star got to have a go at one of them... _Star_!

* * *

This was hilarious. Okay, it was official...even if Michael didn't care about his little brother, there was no way they'd kill him now. David hadn't had a good laugh like this in years, watching the mad little bastard flail and cry in Michael's arms. Even from this distance, he could swear he saw a muscle twitching in the brunette's jaw as his patience started to wear thin.

He glanced back over at Shane to inform him that unfortunately, Michael was too occupied to do the honors of snapping his neck, but the miserable excuse for a vampire had apparently decided to take that moment to try and run. David rolled his eyes and tucked his cigarette into his mouth as he followed, but apparently there actually was _one_ thing the fishy fucker had up on him, besides the running water perk...bastard could run like a son of a bitch. And before David knew it, he was splashing into the surf, and ducking below into the water even as David managed to take to the air.

Shane did, however, bob his head up one last time to shout out to them all, "THIS ISN'T OVER!"

* * *

"Are you kidding me?!" Michael shouted, his hold slackening on Sam just a little.

"Well I didn't know the bastard could run like that!" David shouted down, not only irritated at losing him, but the fact that if they didn't nail the fuck...there'd be one more week of babysitting while they tried to keep Sammie from doing something stupid. Like drowning himself when he tried to reunite with his 'master', or eating a whole pet store's inventory of guinea pigs.

By now, Marko had recovered and was walking towards Michael with Dwayne at his side. Sam was whimpering pathetically that he'd been abandoned by his master, and Paul was piggie-backing Star back to their clearing, a hand-print of fish goo prominent on his cheek where she'd slapped him.

"You had _one job_ , David! You didn't even throw a punch in! You just...you just talked shit!" Michael called up to him, focusing all of his irritation about this mess on the one target he couldn't kill by trying to knock him out in an overly-aggressive blow. That was honestly why he hadn't done it to Sam. He didn't want to take the risk of mis-judging his own strength.

David threw his cigarette into the tide as he began his descent, "I was saving him for you. If you'd fed the first time we brought you out here, that fucker wouldn't even be alive right now. This isn't _my_ fault, Michael," he growled.

"What do you mean?" Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

David waved a hand out towards the water, "he was supposed to be your first kill. Had him all warmed up for you when you fell out of that tree and ran off. All you had to do was _feed_!"

"...So... _you_ turned him, then. You're the reason he ran around the city screwing shit up and turning my little brother into a house-pet munching butt monkey" the brunette shook his head, bewildered.

"I'm not a butt monkey!" Sam protested, struggling anew in his brother's grasp.

"Shut up, Sam," Michael snapped at him, before directing his heated attention back towards his mate, "and you think you can just blame me for your fuck-up? Gosh, it must be nice to live in your little fantasy world, David. Is there anything else you want to blame on me, while we're at it? Why don't we talk about your shitty haircut, huh? It _that_ my fault, too?"

"What did you say about my hair?!" David hissed at him, fists clenched.

Dwayne, Marko, Paul, and Star flopped down in the sand together, coming to the collective unspoken realization that just maybe this night was far from over...

And while they were busy, Edgar and Alan silently watched a figure climbing up over a nearby sand dune, making the sign of the cross in the direction of the rising waves. No sooner had he finished and begun his slow retreat, did Shane's screaming head break through the surface of the water.

Michael and David grew silent, and jerked their heads towards the horrific sight of the last fishy fuck melting into what had once been his sacred haven...as the priest that had tailed Sam to the beach finished consecrating the entire expanse of salty water surrounding their small patch of sand. Beside his feet lay the body of one more member of Shane's little group, Greg, who'd tried to make a run for it. Curled up into a ball like a beetle under a pin, shish-kebabed and doused with holy water. The old man had been in Santa Carla for a very long time.

Paul blinked several times, pulling out a half-smoked joint from his pocket and staring at it until his eyes bugged out, before shaking his head and tossing it behind him. Must have been a bad batch...

Sam slumped bone-lessly in his brother's grasp.

* * *

Additional note: So there's more to making holy water than just a simple pr-...y'know what, fuck it. If vampires can exist, then I don't see why a priest can't temporarily bless a square mile or two of ocean.


	12. Chapter 12: Memories

Author's notes: Had a nightmare FF took down all of my stories. Not because of the naughty...but because I had too many villains. Even saw the angry (and poorly spelled) message someone had sent to the admins to get them taken down, too. Woke up, and for all of ten seconds I thought 'well, at least they're still on up AO3. What a stupid reason to trash my account...'. Maybe I need a break XD

* * *

Grandpa Emerson leaned towards the bedside table, time-worn dining chair beneath him creaking and wailing in protest as he snatched up one of the last few remaining Oreos on a crumb-laden plate. He hadn't been planning on eating so many of them during his watch, but...he also hadn't expected the boy to sleep so long. It had been three days since Michael showed up with Sam in his arms, though he hadn't been nearly as nice to Edgar and Alan Frog. Lucy might not have wanted her youngest to have anything to do with those two trouble-makers anymore, but it still didn't mean she'd wanted to be woken up in the middle of the night to find them tied up and flailing upside-down in a trash can outside the front-porch. She'd been more concerned with Sam at the time, though, so the angry lecture for Michael had been forced to wait until they'd bundled the boy up and rushed him to the local clinic. Grandpa had stuck around to see the Frog brothers home, and they were more than happy to be distanced from the rest of the Lost Boys (and Star) jeering at them from the front lawn.

Antibiotics. Bed rest. A lock on his bedroom window. That was all the doctor thought he needed when Michael wove her his wild tale about Sam trying to sneak out of the house at night to get himself involved with the wrong crowd, only to catch a nasty chest cold soon after before he finally came home after seeing the error of his ways. They'd all agreed it was probably best to keep things as vague as possible.

And Sam had regained consciousness when he first got home, so they were out of the woods (for the most part) now. He was still vomiting up odd-smelling bile into the toilet every few hours, but the occurrences were getting less frequent...and so far, he hadn't had any desires to dig through the front garden for juicy worms. He turned a little green, honestly, every time Nanook came into the room and started growling at a stuffed squirrel grandpa placed on his windowsill to keep him company.

"Grandpa," Sam opened his eyes blearily, yawning as he ran his hands over his face and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"How ya feeling, kiddo?" The old man rasped, holding out a half-eaten Oreo for him. Sam politely declined, glancing towards the door where Nanook waited, whining.

"Hey, Nanook, c'mere..." Sam called out, and the husky trotted towards his bed happily. The fish scent had finally dissipated enough for him to recognize his master again.

"I'm fine, grandpa," Sam shrugged. Physically, he was feeling way better. Could probably even go to school tomorrow, if he survived the embarrassment of all the odd looks he knew his classmates would give him. He didn't doubt Ed and Alan told as many people as they could about the ant incident in the office, probably even mentioning it in their increasingly detailed fliers for vampire hunting they'd hand out after school every Friday.

He could at least take solace that they wouldn't be hunting anymore. Not after what they'd all been through this week. Especially since Michael called them up on the phone the night before to 'check on them'. Sam wasn't too sure what he'd said, because nature had demanded his presence the minute Mike put his ear to the receiver. It must have been pretty bad, though, judging by how intense mom's lecture had been by the time he hobbled back into the kitchen.

"You're lookin' a lot better," the old man remarked, standing up from his chair. "Smelling a lot better too. Shame your brother ain't gonna have much luck there." He paused. "...He hasn't mentioned my car to you recently, has he? I'd kinda like to have her back, now that he got stuck on that all-liquid diet of his."

* * *

David leaned against his bike, tossing his head back to look up at the stars. Michael had about fifteen minutes to go before his little family pow-wow time was up. Then they'd have to go hunting. Should've done it beforehand, honestly, but David had been dialing back his ego the last few days. Maybe it was what Dwayne said. Okay, not entirely.

Something else was bothering him. It had started when they brought the little dork back to the house, and he set eyes on Lucy for the first time since...well, since before Michael and Star banged each other. Seeing that tiny woman weeping over her youngest as they bundled him into the car...didn't really bother him too much. He didn't really feel anything when he saw a crying woman, other than mild annoyance at the grating noise. But she did make him think of Max. And thinking of Max was like setting a mental mirror in front of himself. It irritated him to admit he'd kinda been acting like the former master of their bloodline, in some ways. A little crazy. A little obsessed. Okay, a lot obsessed. But, what's more, keeping his mate in the dark about everything just to have an extra bit of power over him, as if he honestly needed any. He was already much stronger than Michael, whether the boy knew about their telepathy or not.

David had absolutely no idea how he was going to actually bring that up, now, though. But he was pretty sure if he kept it to himself much longer, they were going to get to a point Michael actually might figure it out on his own. And there was no way in hell he couldn't see that possibility blowing up in his face. If he admitted it to himself, he really didn't just want a 'challenge' or a 'sex slave'...well, maybe that would be a nice treat on the side, but that wasn't what he wanted Michael for. If he'd wanted one of those, he would have just kept Star in the hotel and not even bothered giving her any blood in the first place. But it wasn't easy to just...change...after 83 years of doing whatever the fuck he wanted, as long as he didn't get in Max's way for 81 out of those 83. He didn't know _how_ to treat someone like an actual companion, beyond what he had with the rest of the boys. Wasn't even sure where to begin. Fuck, he should have just waited until Michael was actually ready for this. Now they were stuck with amped up libidos and a shitload of drama just waiting around the corner.

Marko sighed and lounged on the grass with his face in the dirt, making it known just how bored an impatient he was getting with this ritual of hanging around the Emerson house like a group of fang-wielding lawn gnomes. David glanced down at him and nudged the smaller vampire with the tip of his boot, _"stop acting like a baby. You're 89 years old."_

Marko rolled over onto his back with a huff, "I'm not acting like a baby."

 _"You know what your problem is, Marko? You need to get laid,"_ Paul smirked, leaning into Star and keeping his arms locked around her torso like the protective railing on a carnival ride. She just ignored him and stared silently towards the house.

" _That's what I've been saying! Somebody needs to open a good strip joint down here already so I can do some window shopping,_ " Marko bemoaned his limited choices on the boardwalk, and the prodigious lack of 'mind-blowing tits'.

 _"You've been acting like a sex-mad imp since we went on our road trip. You don't need to just 'get laid', Marko..."_ Dwayne snorted, leaving the smaller vampire to come to his own conclusion.

"Fuck you. I'm fine the way I am." He climbed to his feet and dusted bits of grass from his rear, stomping off towards his bike.

"You know, if you just owned each other's asses, that'd be two birds with one bone," Paul remarked with a cackle. Star just shook her head and un-linked his arms from around her torso.

"You're disgusting," she informed him, not for the first or even the hundredth time. Definitely not the last.

* * *

"Do you still like tea?" Lucy asked, pouring herself a cup of chamomile. It seemed like every time she was about to have an important talk with someone, these days, they were always in the kitchen. She'd never had so much coffee and tea in her life as she had in the past week or two.

"It's okay," Michael shrugged. "Same as always. Did you need to talk about something before I go, mom?" He looked up at her, arms crossed as he leaned his chair back from the table. Lucy frowned, and he sheepishly lowered all four legs to the ground with a soft 'clunk'.

"How are things...at...home?" Lucy stumbled over the last word, not sure exactly what to call the place Michael lived now. It hadn't sounded like a home, when Sam told her about the place. It sounded like a nightmare, frankly. Every night her oldest son went back to it, she couldn't help but worry he was going to get some sort of disease from one of countless bats or rats that were no doubt also residing there. But dad insisted Michael couldn't get sick now, and she really didn't like his reasons for knowing that, either. Whenever she heard him bandy the words 'death' or 'dead' about, referring to her eldest...it made Lucy's heart leap into her throat. He was walking and talking, and even if he had to...she still couldn't bring herself to focus on what he had to do...that still didn't make him dead. It couldn't.

Michael scratched the back of his neck, not really sure how to answer that question. Somehow: 'I wake up every night with a raging hard-on because the guy who killed me forced me into some kind of freaky bloodsucking marriage ritual against my will, I'm having a blast slashing open people's throats every night and dining on jugular cocktails, I hang by my toes when I sleep, and I'll never know the joys of a hot shower again' just didn't seem like the sort of thing he should be telling his mother. So, he settled on something much simpler and...a little bit of a lie..."It's okay. No complaints. I'm getting used to it."

She carried their steaming mugs towards the kitchen table and set them down, taking her seat beside him and holding out a hand, "Michael..."

He lowered his eyebrows, not too keen on the tone of her voice. That was the tone that said 'I'm about to tell you something important, and I know you're not going to like it. But I've made up my mind.' It was the same tone she'd used when she said she wasn't going to take dad to court for screwing her out of the house, or when she'd decided they needed a chance of scenery right before they'd rolled out of Arizona.

"Please don't look at me like that, sweetie,"

"Like what?"

"You..." Lucy licked her bottom lip nervously, "Michael, I don't know if you know this or not...but there's this...look in your eyes you have now. It scares me. I don't know _who you are_ when you look at me like that." It really hurt to tell him. It really hurt for him to hear. But it was the truth. There was a disturbing lack of kindness in his eyes when he had that look. To be honest, every look he had now was a little bit more remote, and a little bit colder than it used to be. But _that look_ in particular...that was one she didn't care to ever see again, if it could be avoided.

Michael nodded, scooping up his mug with a thin-lipped smile, "sorry. Didn't mean it."

"Honey...I think it might be a good idea for me and Sam to leave Santa Carla."

" **WHAT?!** " Michael exclaimed, nearly slamming his mug on the table before he realized what he was doing. He closed his eyes and steeled himself, "...I...I'm sorry. _What?_ "

"This city isn't safe. Your brother isn't safe here. I'm not safe here. Nobody is safe."

"That's not true. You've got me and the others. We'll keep you safe. You can't leave," Michael insisted, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"This isn't up for discussion. And I don't want to be that kind of a burden on you," Lucy shook her head.

"Mom...you _can't_ leave." Michael repeated himself. This time there was a slight edge to his tone, something to match the look she didn't like. Every moment they spent together now was reminding her more and more that...frankly...he really wasn't the same person anymore. Not by a long shot. No matter how much it made her heart constrict in her chest, and her eyes burn...she had to admit it to herself. Even from when they'd finally met each other again on the boardwalk only a few days ago...it was as if he was getting colder from day to day.

"Michael. We're leaving."

" _No_. _You're not._ "

Lucy sighed, rubbing at her eyes, "why can't you understand? I know you're fully capable of visiting, young man, if it's about that. And you spent two years hopping from state to state doing just fine without us."

Michael took the hand she'd been holding out to him since she sat down, and squeezed it, rubbing at her palm with his calloused thumbs, "mom...I'm forgetting things."

She took a sip of her tea, pursing her lips over the steam, her voice muffled beneath the rim of the mug, "forgetting things?"

"Yeah..." He shrugged, "mostly small stuff. Like...old teachers, places I used to hang out at back in Arizona. But...bigger things too...like dad's face. I talked to Star, and it's happening even faster for her. I think it has something to do with being dead...I don't know...I'm not really sure..."

"Michael, please don't use that word," she said quietly as she set her cup back down on the table. "You're _not_ dead."

"Not entirely, no...but I'm not alive," his lips twitched into a semblance of a smirk, "I'm just really...scared...that if you both leave, and I don't have a reason to see you every week...I won't have a reason to _try_ to remember my old life, either..."

Lucy leaned back in her chair, stunned into silence as Michael released her hand and drew his cup to his mouth, "please stay, mom...at least a little longer. I _need_ you."


End file.
